Miracles

Wow! It has been over a year since I last blogged. And what a year it has been! Today I want to write about miracles. My life has been full of miracles, especially lately. At 12:59 a.m. on August 29th, I gave birth to my fourth baby. That in itself was a miracle. It was only six years ago that I was trying to come to terms with the idea that I might not be able to have children. Then almost five years ago, close to Thanksgiving, I had my first miracle, Sam.  Almost three years ago, around this time, we were at Primary Children's Hospital, with Mark, learning about daily miracles and the power of prayer. Then two years ago, in October, we welcomed our third little surprise miracle into our family, Cole. And last week, Lucy taught us yet again about miracles and blessings in our life.

I was so surprised and shocked when I found out that I was pregnant again. My ENT was actually the first person I told because I had just done a pregnancy test right before I went to my follow-up doctor appointment after having ear surgery. I was still having some issues and not hearing very well out of my ear, and the doctor was giving his plan of action and I said, "What if I'm pregnant?" That changed those plans. Then when I was reporting to Nic about my doctor's appointment, I told him that we decided not to do anything about my ear problems right then because I was pregnant. Then I burst into tears. Nic was so cute. I wasn't sure how he would react. To be honest, having three kids under the age of four can be a little rough. I was afraid announcing another one might push Nic over the edge. But he was so excited and gave me big hugs. And thus started our fourth journey.

We both said that we didn't care whether this baby was a boy or girl as long as it was healthy and okay. But I have to admit that I secretly hoped in my heart for a little girl. When I was first pregnant with Sam, I kept having these dreams of a little baby girl. Then I had a boy. I had the same dreams when I was pregnant with Mark. Then I had a boy. Again, I had the same dreams when I was pregnant with Cole. Again, I had a boy. (Don't get me wrong; I love my boys and would be perfectly happy with a house full of them). I wasn't sure if these dreams were personal revelation or wishful thinking. But it was always the same little baby girl in every dream. Nic and I were talking that this would probably be the last baby for us, so I was pretty nervous on the day of our ultrasound/find out. I kept saying that I would be just as excited if it was a boy and I knew that I would love the baby no matter what, but I was praying and hoping that it would be a little girl. And it was. The technician showed us our baby and said, "well, you know what that means." I can't ever see things very well on the ultrasound, so I didn't know what it meant. I was still holding my breath when she finally said, "It's a girl!" We were so excited and suddenly so nervous, because this meant our world was about to change dramatically in a few months!

This pregnancy was more difficult on my body than the other ones. It was difficult with Cole because I got so big and towards the end, couldn't stand up for more than ten minutes. But with this pregnancy, I ended up with gestational diabetes and a severe iron deficiency. With the diabetes, I was able to control it with diet and exercise and didn't need to do insulin shots or anything. I just had to prick my finger and do a blood test four times a day. I didn't think I could do it at first, but it ended up not being a big deal. It was a good wake up call for me that I (and my family) needed to eat and live in a much healthier way. Good thing for summer gardens and fresh veggies! I gained a much greater respect for people who deal with diabetes every day, like my nephew, William. You don't realize that it's not just sugar, but carbs, and that there's so much that you have to think about and adjust in your life.

The iron deficiency was probably the most difficult thing for me. Being low on iron drains your energy so much. I was already tired just from being pregnant, low iron turned me into a zombie! Some days I could hardly think straight and do basic functions like getting the boys and me dressed. I can't swallow pills, so I had to take liquid iron. I've compared it to walking along and finding a rusted bucket full of liquid and drinking it. It tastes so horrible. By the end of my pregnancy, I had to do double doses of iron, and my body still wasn't really absorbing it. After I had Lucy, I had to have an IV of iron. I joked with Papa J and my mom, both soda pop addicts, that I was getting my Pepsi intravenously.

I also joked that I had never had so much estrogen in my body in my entire life. I cried at the drop of a hat over the silliest things. My emotions were all over the place. I could be laughing one minute, crying the next. It was so crazy!

About two weeks before I had Lucy, I broke out in a really itchy rash and hives. The doctor tried a couple of things to treat it as an infection. I tried about every anti-itch cream, powder, spray out there. I was miserable. I would lie awake at night and just scratch and try not to scratch and scratch and try not to scratch. My legs and tummy were covered in bruises probably from my scratching. On Thur., August 28th, I had just started to take a prescription steroid to see if it was an allergic reaction to something and to try to get my immune system to calm down. (I later found out that the rash was probably something called PUPPs, a pregnancy related rash).

The evening of the 28th, we went to Papa J and Grandma J's house to celebrate Papa J's birthday. We had lots of pizza and a fun evening hanging out outside and enjoying the nice weather. We got home around 9:30 p.m. and got the boys in their jammies and off to bed. Then we went to bed. Every night when I go to bed, I try to have baby time where I do kick counts and focus on the baby movements for my own peace of mind. Well, I climbed in bed, laid down on my left side, gave my tummy a few little nudges, and waited to feel baby Lulu. Nothing. I shifted, gave a few more nudges. Still nothing. Normally, Lulu responded quickly, and she was usually very harsh with her movements. I joked that it usually felt like she had broken off one of my ribs and was trying to dig her way out. There were many times when she made me cry from dragging across my tummy so hard, and usually she was quite visible in her movements. But that night, there wasn't anything. She actually had a foot or leg that was pushed against my stomach that I was able to grab hold of and move her. But even physically moving her, she didn't respond back. Even Nic grabbed hold and moved her, but she didn't move back. We knew that something wasn't right. Within seconds, I was on the phone with the on-call doctor, and Nic was on his phone with Nanny to see if she could come stay with the boys. I was so freaked out and crying, but Nic said a prayer that I could be calm and that Lulu would be okay which helped me calm down a little. Within minutes, Nanny was pulling into the driveway as we were pulling out to head to the hospital. We arrived at the hospital and proceeded to do a no-stress test where they monitor the baby's heartbeat. At first, the nurse couldn't find the heartbeat. I don't think Nic and I took a breath during the couple of minutes that it took to find Lulu's heartbeat. But soon, the beautiful sound of her heart beating filled the room. They monitored her heart beat for 20 minutes, and while her heart was beating, they didn't like how it was acting. They called my doctor, and he told them he would be there in 15 minutes and to have me ready.

It was so surreal and crazy when the nurse walked into the room and said, "How about we have this baby tonight?" I was in shock. I had kept telling Nic that I didn't feel like Baby Lulu was going to wait until her due date, but this totally took me by surprise. My due date was September 13th. I was scheduled for my c-section on September 8th. And here we were the last week of August. If Lulu had been born in September, we would have had a birthday in August, September, October, and November. But it was not to be. And I guess miracles don't follow carefully laid out plans. I had a cleaning schedule and a to-do list schedule so that everything would be in place and ready for Lulu by September 8th. Having her on August 29th wasn't on that schedule! We didn't even have the cradle in the house yet. It was still in storage out in the garage. I remember texting my sister, who is absolutely amazing, with my long list of to-do's. There's laundry in the washer...could you throw the baby clothes and blankets into the washer...there's a pile of dishes in the sink...the dishwasher is half unloaded...I haven't made the big brother shirts yet...the groceries are still on the counter...I also had all these plans to be better prepared for my c-section this time. But there I was at midnight, slathered in Gold Bond anti-itch cream, with pizza heartburn, a red blotchy face from crying, messy hair, and no camera to capture Lulu's big debut. Luckily, miracles don't care about any of those things.

We texted my sister, my parents, and Nic's parents to let them know that Lulu was on her way. I was given my IV (which, for me, is the WORST part of having a baby). I have really difficult veins and I'm a difficult patient, so drawing blood and IVs usually involve much needle pricks and lots of crying on my part. When I had my blood drawn for my pre-natal blood tests, it took seven pokes and three different people and left me with some nice bruises. Anytime, I have to draw blood or get an IV, we automatically request the "sharp-shooter". If you don't think you can do it on the first try, if you have even a doubt, then step away! Well, the head nurse did my IV, and she assured me that she was good. And maybe she was good, but she was no match for my veins. It took two tries, and she left me with this:

I was taken into the operating room where the anesthesiologist got me all numbed up and ready. And then it was time. My doctor, Dr. Smith, delivered all of my babies, and he was there and ready to go. For being the middle of the night, everyone was fairly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed!
Some things about getting a c-section:

• I always shake like crazy before and after getting the epidural. It's like hanging out in Antarctica in a bikini.
• I always try to pass out. This time, the room was starting to spin, but I couldn't think of the word, so I said, "I'm feeling queasy." So the anesthesiologist and Nic were trying to find me a puke bucket, but I was trying to stay conscious. I guess my blood pressure tanked, the anesthesiologist gave me a shot of something in my IV, and all was well again.
• Your husband can choose to watch or not watch. Nic decided to watch this time. He said it was "interesting" to see my insides all laid out to the side.
• It is really weird to feel things being moved around. It doesn't hurt, but you can definitely feel when they take the baby from your body.
• There is nothing as wonderful as finally hearing that first baby cry. I couldn't see anything and kept asking Nic what was going on. "Can you see her yet?" "Is everything okay?" Finally, I heard that wonderful first cry. I'm crying as I type this because it's just so hard to describe the sound of a new human being making her first sound on this earth and knowing that that precious soul is straight from heaven right then. It's better than angels singing.

Here's where the miracle part comes in. Apparently, Lulu had the cord wrapped around her neck pretty tight in the hangman's noose. She wouldn't have made it to Sept. 8th how she was. She wouldn't have made it to my doctor appointment that week. It was lucky/inspired that my doctor decided to deliver her that night instead of maybe the next day. I don't know why we received such a miracle. I have good friends who have lost babies, and I know that miracles don't come based on how much we deserve them or how much God loves us. It's all just part of a grand plan of which we only see a little part. But I am so eternally grateful for the miracles in my life. Whenever there was a nurse shift change while we were at the hospital, the leaving nurse would introduce Lulu to the new nurse as "the miracle baby". It was good to hear that repeatedly as a reminder of what a miracle she is. One nurse kept telling me, "You spread this message. Tell your pregnant friends to do their kick counts!" So, pregnant friends, do your kick counts! I've also learned to listen to your instincts and not to worry about freaking out about nothing. I remember when I was pregnant with Sam, I had a panic attack where I couldn't feel him moving. I did a no stress test with him, and it turned out to be nothing. He was just turned so that he wasn't kicking against my tummy, and I couldn't feel it at that moment. I felt kind of silly at the time, but my doctor told me that I had done the right thing, and that it was always better to check something out and be wrong then to not check something out and be right. I think even that experience was preparing me for Lulu.

Lulu, also known as Lucia Isabella, was born on August 29, 2014. She weighed and was tall. She was born with a full head of strawberry blonde, almost caramel, hair. The nurses in the nursery kept asking if Lulu could come in the nursery at night (since she was the fourth baby, momma was more than okay with that! I needed to get some sleep whenever I could get it!). They had so much fun with their little doll, and she would come back with little bows in her hair. We loved all of our nurses. They became good friends in our short time in the hospital.

     Look at the angel smile!

 The nurses loved doing her hair. And I don't think Lulu mind the attention one bit!

 A rare moment when we got Cole to look at the baby.

 Lulu's first outfit. She looked so cute and then proceeded to have her first blow out. Little stinker!

Before long, it was time to take our little miracle home. Sam fell in love with his little sister immediately. Mark and Cole...well, it took a little longer. At first, Mark and Cole wouldn't even look at her and wanted nothing to do with her. But little by little, she won their hearts. Now I'm constantly telling them to leave her alone. Our family was already pretty great before Lulu, but now it's even better!

A Pure Stay at Home Mom

A few weeks ago, Nic and I attended a class for becoming a licensed Ham Radio operator. It may sound like a random thing, but we've been pretty excited about it. (And here's a little sidenote to my story--we took the test and passed. We are now official Amateur Radio technicians. We have call signs and everything! We're cool, roger that!) Anyway, the class was on a Saturday and lasted for four hours. During one of the breaks, I had the following conversation with an older lady:
Older Lady: Hi Jolene. Where's your cute boys today?
Me: They're at home with my sister.
Older Lady: Oh, that's so nice. You are so lucky to have your sister around to help you.
Me: Yes, I'm so lucky to have her. I don't know what I would do without her.
Older Lady: If you didn't have her to help, then you would have to be a pure stay at home mother like I was.
Me: ????????

What did she mean by that? Was she implying that I am an impure stay at home mother? What does that mean? At first I was baffled by her comment. Then I felt defensive and angry. A little before I had Cole, my sister started coming every weekend to help me with the boys on Sunday. Nic had been called into the bishopric which means that we don't see a lot of him, especially on Sunday. Wrangling two little ones while eight months pregnant was difficult. Then I talked my sister in continuing to come each weekend to help me because wrangling three little boys under three is difficult too. Now I know that other women have done it, are doing it, and will continue to do it on their own, but I have the resource of a loving and helpful sister, so why not take advantage of it. Sometimes I think that some of the older women in the ward think that Nanny stays with me all week and cares for the children while I eat bon-bons all day. So after, the defensiveness and anger subsided a little, then I moved on to feeling inadequate. Suddenly I started to feel like I am a bad mom, like I'm falling very short of the standard, that I'm sub-par.

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The above post was written early August. I had continued on with what I thought was a clever and witty response, complete with five steps to being an impure stay at home mom. But looking it over, and even as I wrote it, it was still coming out as very bitter and angry. The more I've thought about this, the more I've realized that I need to let go of worrying about what others think of me or my perceptions of what others think of me. This is easier said than done, but I'm going to try. I am going to just keep trying to be the best mother and person that I can be, continually improving upon the day before, and have faith and hope that it is enough. I'm also going to remember that when I fall short, I have a very loving Savior who paid the price for me and will always make up the difference. I just need to do my best and turn to Him in all things and that will be enough.

Being a mom is like being a lottery winner.

Being a mom is like being a chauffeur, a chef, a maid, a referee, a doctor, a therapist, a dietician, a musician, an actor, a teacher, search and rescue, a spy, and sometimes a prisoner of war...you name it, a mom does it. But most of all, being a mom is like being a lottery winner every day. Yes, there are bad days, but there are also good days, and I wouldn't trade this wonderful gift called motherhood for all the money in the world. I feel pretty darn lucky to have three handsome, smart, funny, kind, loving, often mischievous little boys to call my own. Every day, good or bad, there is a new adventure. Every day I get to see the world through new eyes. The world is scarier and prettier. There is laughter and tears; frustration and heartaches; and most of all, overwhelming joy. I love when my kiss is the only thing that can make an owie stop hurting. I love when I have little arms wrapped around my neck and when I get slobbery kisses. I love when my little boys run across the room with their arms outstretched so happy to see me. I love watching my baby sleep nestled in my arms. My heart almost breaks with overwhelming love when I hear a little voice say, "Mommy I love you soooooooo much." Being a mom is like taking all of the hard things and all of the good things in life and mushing and knotting it all together into a giant, tangled ball of gooey, sticky wonder and adventure. I truly am the luckiest girl in the world!

PITSD--a more serious post

Today I've decided to share some thoughts that I generally don't really even say out loud. Be aware that there's going to be a lot of soul pouring in the post and probably a lot of rambling! Here it goes: I have PITSD--Post Infertility Traumatic Stress Disorder. I've made up the name, but I know it has to be a real thing (btw, I'm not mocking or taking PTSD lightly).  I usually don't notice it too much, except at certain times, like Mother's Day. For a long time, Mother's Day was not a happy day for me. It was actually a very painful, heart breaking day for me. When dealing with infertility, Mother's Day is not a day to look forward to. I would try to focus on showing my love and appreciation for my amazing mother and mother-in-law and all of the other awesome women in my life, but it was still difficult. Listening to the children sing songs to their mothers at church would bring lots of sobbing and mascara smeared across my face. Some years I did better than others, but some years were very dark.

But now I have children. I am finally a mom. Still, I sometimes feel this hesitation to really enjoy Mother's Day, like, am I really allowed this wonderful thing? I am also very aware that there are so many women who are dealing with infertility, miscarriage, death of a child, death of their mother,  and so many other things that make this day so hard to face. I know some of that pain. I feel torn because I want to celebrate being a mother because I am so happy and blessed to be one. And yet, I want to do something to show these struggling women how much they are loved and that they are in my thoughts and prayers. I want to join the group of moms and cry and laugh about the struggles of every day motherhood, and I want to join the group of women struggling and crying. I want to hug each of them, and if I could I would show them my heart and say, "See I have those scars on my heart too, but I made it, and you will too. You can do this, and you are not alone."

When you have PITSD, it is difficult to not always be waiting for the rug to be pulled out from underneath you. When I found out that I was pregnant for the first time, I spent the first month or two really trying to convince myself that it was really a baby and not a tumor that my body had somehow misunderstood to be a baby. I worried and fretted the entire pregnancy that something was going to go wrong. I just couldn't believe that something that good was really happening for me. Once my husband was out later than I had anticipated, and I couldn't get a hold of him. I was so sure that he was dead because I was pregnant and so something bad had to happen. Well, thankfully, he was fine. The baby was fine. And now I have three handsome, wonderful little boys. I am so truly blessed in my life, but if I'm not careful, sometimes the anticipation of something bad happening will creep back in. But I have to just keep telling myself that there are plenty of bad things that can happen in life, but there are also many more good things that happen every day. And when the bad things happen, I will get through them with the Lord's help. For now, I'm just going to live and enjoy every minute of this wonderful life that is mine.

Another effect of PITSD is the overwhelming feeling that you must be a perfect parent. I sometimes put too much pressure on myself because I couldn't have children for five years. For five years, I obsessed over how much I wanted to be a mother. Sometimes I feel like I should be better because of those earlier struggles, like more is expected of me, because I wanted it so badly, as though it would be ungrateful to not do everything perfectly. I remember before I had children how much I hated when mothers would make flippant comments about wanting to get rid of their children. Occasionally, a mother would say something like, "You want kids? Here take little Timmy. He's driving me crazy." And I would get so mad because how dare this mother throw it in my face that she could have children and I couldn't. Now I understand a little better what that mother was going through. There have been a few times when I have threatened my children that I'm going to sell them to the zoo to live with the monkeys or to a traveling band of gypsies. And then I feel really guilty because how dare I think such things? I wanted children so badly for so long, I better love every minute of motherhood, right? I am slowly learning that infertility didn't up the requirements for me. All of us go through different struggles. If someone has cancer and beats it, do I expect them to now be a saint? No, of course not. We're all human, and I need to allow myself to be human too.

Anyway, I hope tomorrow that I can somehow help all the women around me know how amazing they are. As a mother, I am realizing more and more that it really does take a village to raise a child. My sons are so blessed to have wonderful grandmothers, aunts, cousins, an AWESOME nanny, amazing friends, and teachers helping them and caring for them. Women are like aspen trees. Aspen trees share a root system which gives them strength to endure the roughest of weather and gives them the nourishment they need to grow and strive in the hardest of conditions such as drought or long, cold winters. The largest root system is a cluster of Aspen trees in Utah that covers roughly 106 acres. As women, the more we reach out to one another, the more strength we have and the more good we can do as a collective power for good. The winds of adversity can't shake me or my little saplings because I have the strength of my sisters. I want to do more to contribute to that sisterhood and strengthen and encourage the women around me. So, sister reading this, know that no matter where you are in life or what you're going through, you are AMAZING and TREMENDOUS and 100% AWESOME! Thank you for all that you do. And I hope you have a wonderful day tomorrow--you deserve it!

Some random thoughts on motherhood

Being a mom is like being a supermodel.

Being a mom is like being a supermodel...ha ha, just kidding. Actually it's the exact opposite. I just couldn't think of what the opposite of a supermodel is. I remember taking my baby in for his three month check up and asking the doctor about this little rash he had. The doctor asked me if I was using a different soap or lotion on him. Nope. Was I using a different laundry detergent? Nope. Was I using a new soap, lotion, or perfume? That's when I realized what I was doing differently--I was finally able to take regular showers again!

The other day as I excitedly opened my brand new $4 mascara, I wondered to myself what those supermodel women think when they see women like me. I wonder if they think that I don't care or that I don't try. But I do try, I really do, but it is inevitable that I'm going to have spit up stains on my shoulders and crumbs stuck to my pants. On Sundays when I put the most effort toward my appearance, it lasts maybe five minutes. By the time we get to church, my hair is flying in different directions, my make-up has been perspired off, and my clothes are disheveled. It is the price I pay for wrestling three little alligators into dress clothes, getting them strapped into a van, and then getting them into the church on time (or as close to on time as we can get).

And I do try to exercise and take care of myself. But I still don't understand why all the scrubbing and vacuuming, kid lifting and kid hauling, kid chasing and silly dancing don't counterbalance the chocolate I eat through out the day to get me through the day. You just can't achieve the level of mothering that I do on celery alone, believe you me.

However, I am grateful that my boys don't care what I look like. Someday they will, and I can use that to my advantage. Yes, I will be the mother that will sit in the back of my son's classroom with my hair in curlers and wearing my best sweat suit if I catch wind of any of my boys misbehaving in class. I'm also very grateful that my husband still finds me attractive. I think he's crazy or maybe losing his sight, but I appreciate it nonetheless. He's a good man, and he has the ability to help me feel beautiful even after a long night with a teething baby. Love him so much!

Motherhood: I make this look HOT! =)

Being a mom is like being a politician.

There's campaigns to run (my campaign is JJ4MOTY--Jolene Jenkins 4 Mother of the Year) and babies to kiss every day. Yep, being a mom is a lot like being a politician. As a mom, I am always trying to keep my constituents happy, but there is always someone who isn't. I deliver grand speeches that no one really listens to, and I try to resolve complaints through out the day that never get resolved.

And like some politicians, I find myself constantly breaking promises that I once made. For example, before I had children, I made statements such as these:
I will never allow my children to eat junk food.
I will never let my children watch television until they are at least three, and then only a couple of hours each week.
I will never yell at my children.
I will never be that parent that has the wild children at church.
I will never become a frumpy mom who sometimes forgets to comb her hair.

I have discovered, since having children of my own, that 'never' is a very strong word. When I said "never", I meant occasionally...well, sometimes...well, no more than once a day...well...let's talk about something else, shall we?

The Mother of All Judging

So the other day, my good friend Heidi shared the following post from Love and Logic on my Fb:

"Moms…do you ever feel like the weight of the world is resting firmly on your shoulders? Do you ever feel like it's your job…YOUR JOB… to make sure that your kids always do the right thing and turn out well? Do you ever worry that the entire neighborhood is aware and judging you when your kids sneak out of the house with mismatched socks, messy hair and less-than-polite attitudes?

Oftentimes, the most loving and effective mothers take the most heat from others and themselves.

Wonderful moms understand that kids need to make plenty of small, affordable mistakes. They know that kids must experience occasional struggles and disappointments. They also know that constant rescuing or micromanaging just creates kids who need constant rescuing and micromanaging.

Because of this, the best moms often feel a bit lonely and unsure of themselves. They feel lonely because our society too frequently rewards what looks good rather than what is good. They feel lonely because they rarely overhear other mothers bragging about allowing their kids to learn by forgetting a lunch, misplacing an occasional homework paper, or having to pay for a lost coat.

The best moms often feel a bit lonely and unsure of themselves.

It's easy to feel guilty or insecure when you see so many "super hover mommies" acting like pack mules, carrying all of their children's sporting equipment, back packs and other responsibilities. It's easy to lose perspective when your minivan is the only one without an "Honor Student" bumper sticker. It's tempting to waver when the parents next door are working harder completing their child's homework than their child is.

On this Mother's Day holiday, I hope to encourage all of the wonderful mothers who let things fall apart from time to time…who understand the wisdom of providing a rather imperfect world for their kids. When you find yourself feeling insecure or guilty, listen to our audio, Helicopters, Drill Sergeants and Consultants, and be reminded that it's far better for our kids to submit a sloppy science fair project than them seeing us hunched over the kitchen table frantically doing it for them."

This got me thinking--a dangerous past time, I know (name that movie). I always look at Heidi and think what an amazing mom she is. Her kids eat their vegetables, are well-mannered and smart, her house is so clean, she makes her own bread, she's so organized, she has it all together, etc., etc. Then I look at myself and think what a terrible mom I am. My kids aren't really sure what vegetables are, they can throw some amazing tantrums, my house is a disaster zone, my life feels like chaos most days, etc., etc. I realize that I do this with most women I know. It is very easy for me to only see the wonderful things that other moms are doing and compare that to what I feel are my inadequacies. When I read this post by Heidi, I felt a little surprised. She feels this way too sometimes?! But she is an awesome mom! It never occurs to me that these super moms that I see all around me feel the same inadequacies and self-judgments as I do. Maybe when we think people are looking at us judging us, maybe, just maybe, they didn't even notice or think twice that my kids had McDonald's twice last week. 

I'm realizing that when out in public, most moms try to put their best foot forward just like I do. It's not an act, per se, it's more of a fake it 'til you make it kind of thing. If I act like I have it all together when I take my children to story time at the library, then maybe one day it will come true...some day. 

Whenever I see someone else's child throwing a tantrum or misbehaving or with messy hair, I always think, "Oh, thank heavens! Someone else is imperfect like me and has imperfect children like me too!" Followed by a sigh of relief and strong urge to hug the stuffing out of that good, frazzled mother.

So I think for Mother's Day this year, I'm going to give myself a gift--the gift of no judging. I'm going to try really hard to stop comparing my faults to other's strengths. I'm going to compliment myself when I do something right and forgive myself when I do something wrong. I'm going to lower my expectations for myself. I mean, I don't expect my friends to do everything and do it perfectly, so why do I expect that of myself? And most of all, I'm going to accept the fact that God loves me and that He never meant for me to do this mother thing perfectly or to do this alone. I need to quit floundering for so long before I turn to Him for help.

So, chin up, Jolene! You're doing just fine.


Here's a piece of art that I didn't really understand when I first saw it many years ago, but now there's something about it that just resonates with me. If you notice all of the responsibilities that the woman is carrying, and how her foot just brushes the tree below her. She's not flying high. She's just barely clearing the trees. That's how I feel most days, but I'm flying nonetheless.
 It's called Responsible Woman. The artist is James Christensen. You can check out his other artwork at: http://www.jameschristensen.com/

Being a mom is like being a Las Vegas performer.

Being a mom is like being a Las Vegas performer. I'm not talking the scantily clad performers with lots of sequins and feathers or strip club gals. I mean performers like what you might see on the TV show America's Got Talent...performers just trying to have the act that draws people in to see it time and time again. For example, this is from the Las Vegas publicity website (lasvegas.com):
No other city can compete with the events, concerts and shows in Las Vegas. We're truly the Entertainment Capital of the World. And no matter what you're looking for this summer, we've got just the event. There are Las Vegas shows with dancing, singing, acrobatics and more. There's comedy or drama. And a healthy amount of spectacle.

And the concerts are out of this world all summer, and year, long. Nowhere else are so many talented performers performing night after night...

Sorry, Las Vegas. I beg to differ. My house might give you a run for your money. As a mother, I am performing every day. I sing, I dance, I act, I improv, I do impersonations and puppet shows, and I'm a pretty good comedian. The thing I love about being a mom is that I am not a good singer (I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket); I'm not a good dancer; my impersonations aren't always spot on; my jokes are usually cheesy; but my kids still like it. They keep requesting the same songs every day. They like to sing and dance with me and be silly. We have fun and enjoy being together. So maybe I don't have the huge crowds or fame and maybe I'm not making the big bucks, but hearing those cute laughs and giggles and making those fun memories is so much better.

By the way, what does 'a healthy amount of spectacle' mean? Is there some way to measure how much spectacle is healthy and how much crosses the line to unhealthy? Just wondering.

Mommy Confessions

Here's another post from Honest Mom. 
These made me laugh and do that I-know-what-you-mean nod. Also, here's a few confessions of my own:
--When someone comes to my house, even if I've just spent hours cleaning it, I always apologize for the mess. I think I hope that they think that the house is at it's messiest and think, "wow! It's not messy at all. What a great homemaker." Because if people saw my house at its worst, they would think, "Maybe this house should be condemned? What does this woman do all day?!"
--I sometimes growl at my children. Sometimes I just get so frustrated that I just growl out of frustration. It was all good until my three-year-old started copying me. Grrrrrrr.
--I hide candy and eat it in secret so that I don't have to share with my kids (and sometimes my hubbie). It's really my first born's fault. He's the one that gave me the sweet tooth when I was pregnant with him. Unfortunately, I had the baby but the sweet tooth just never went away!
Come on, moms, what's your confessions?

IN WHICH I MAKE GOOFY CONFESSIONS FOR ALL OF FACEBOOK TO READ.

It all started with an innocent confession as I sat in a chair in my daughter’s room, waiting for her to fall asleep.

Yes, I do that.

And apparently a lot of you do, too. Because when I admitted it on Facebook, 100 people liked it and 28 people chimed in, confessing they did the same thing.

Hmmmm, I thought. We are honest moms, indeed.

So I fessed up to this one:

Hundreds of people admitted to doing the EXACT SAME THING.

Not only that, but I was thrilled to read that many of you also forget your wet laundry in the dryer for days and rewash it because it gets stinky. And re-dry your clothes in the dryer over and over, hoping it’ll get the wrinkles out.

We are a sisterhood of laundry avoiders.

Next, I admitted that I may not always be attending to official business when I’m in the bathroom:

Me too! chorused the masses. I, too, do whatever it takes to get in a game of Words With Friends or play on Facebook for 10 minutes!

But some of you poor mamas have kiddos who won’t let you even tend to your needs in the loo alone. I remember those days.

Now, however, my kids just bang on the door and proclaim they need me RIGHT NOW MAMA because they must have a snack / are dying of thirst / need help with putting on a fairy costume IMMEDIATELY.

And really, unless I hear crying or screaming? I tune them out.

Then, as I was thinking about my oh-so-riveting social life on Saturday night, I threw up a quick question on Facebook:

“Ah, another fabulous, exciting Saturday night, folding laundry before crashing at 9:45pm. Good times, good times. Is anyone’s night as riveting as mine? Or do some of you actually, you know, do stuff and go places?”

Apparently I am not alone. You people are as boring as me. My laundry folding and TV watching was frankly a big wild party compared to some of you. Martinis and Minivans busying herself by chowing down multiple Little Debbie snack cakes. Mrs. HouseTalkN herself was in her jammies by 8pm. And one mom wasn’t even aware it was Saturday.

Today, to round up my series of confessions, I told the Facebook masses about my guilty little secret:

I don’t exactly hurry my way through the grocery store when I get to go alone. I may even dawdle. You, too, huh?

“As refreshing as a trip to the spa,” agreed one mom. And RachRiot loves her grocery getaway, too: “It’s like a little vacay, plus my grocery store plays kick-ass ’80′s music. WIN.”

So many moms, so many confessions, so fun to read. I still can’t get over the fact that I am not the only one who is hopelessly laundry-challenged.

I feel like this woman might be my long lost sister...=)

Being a mom is like being a mother grizzly bear.

Being a mom means joining a primal club that includes members from all different species. The human mother is most comparable to the mother grizzly bear. When you are in bear country, one of the biggest rules to follow is to avoid bear cubs at all costs. Bear cubs are clumsy and adorable, but if there is a bear cub then momma bear isn't going to be very far away. And you DO NOT want to mess with momma bear. Momma bear doesn't care if you were just trying to get a good picture or share your pb&j sandwich with her offspring. She will tear you to shreds before you can take a breath to explain.

I have found myself going momma bear a few times. Heaven help anyone who tries to hurt my boys. Once I even went a little momma bear on my husband. He was driving a little too fast or recklessly, in my opinion, and I had my cubs strapped in their car seats in the back of the car. It wasn't pretty. If I remember correctly, I may have threatened to rip his arm off and beat him with it if he didn't slow down and be careful right then. I'm not a violent person, per se, but when it comes to my children, I would not hesitate to do whatever I needed to do to protect them.

Also, here's a little lesson dads can learn from nature: Daddy bears usually stay clear of momma bears right after she has her cubs. I mean, unless he wants to help clean the cave or take the cubs for a stroll to give momma bear some rest, daddy bears know it's best to just steer clear of momma bear until she gets feeling back to her normal self. =)

By the way, I took this awesome picture of this momma bear nursing her cubs (yes, I know this goes against everything I just said, but I feel like this momma bear and I had an understanding, and I had a really good zoom on the camera, and I felt like I could outrun some of the other people that were there at the time). I love how she's slouched against a tree and looks so thrilled. I know that feeling sometimes. Don't get me wrong, nursing is great, but every two to three hours, really?! =)

Being a mom is like being an engineer...without any training.

Being a mom is like being an engineer but without any schooling or training. The first time I tried to put our Baby Einstein bouncer together, I thought, "How hard could this be?" Apparently, due to complaints about difficult to understand instructions and the inconvenience of writing instructions in various languages for a global society, many companies have begun just doing picture instructions. But these picture instructions are NOT detailed or well-drawn. It's like the pictures that your weird third-cousin draws while playing Pictionary at the family reunion. Is that a bat? A dog? Oh, it's George Clooney. I see it now. One of these days I'm going to write to these toy manufacturers using just stick figure drawings to complain about their complex instructions.

After assembling various toys, bikes, trikes, beds, furniture, etc. I think I'm ready to go help with the overpass they're building on the freeway nearby. It really can't be much more complicated than putting a day bed together, right?

Just inserting batteries can be a complicated procedure--the most complicated part being not losing those itty bitty screws that they use. Every time, the minute I do the last twist to remove the tiny screw, it's going to somehow go flying across the room. We then spend the next forty minutes on our hands and knees searching for it, only to find it as it's about to go in the baby's mouth. Every time.

The other thing that makes me feel like an engineer is all the building that I do with my boys. They love blocks and train tracks. And they don't want just your standard run-of-the mill buildings. They want state-of-the-art sky scrapers and complex European train track systems. I'm still working on making a good oval with my train tracks; anything more complicated, we usually need to call in the big guns, Daddy. Somehow daddy knows how to build arches and bridges, balconies and balustrades. But I'm learning and the boys make sure that I get plenty of practice.

Being a mom is like being a cage fighter.

The lights dim. The crowd turns their attention to the entrance as a spotlight falls upon a single silhouette entering the arena. The Itsy Bitsy Spider blares from the speakers as I-mean-it-you-have-until-the-count-of-three Mom enters the ring.  Once again the lights dim as multi-colored beams of light flash across the arena. Fight For Your Right to Party (Beastie Boys) begins to blast through the arena, as Toddler the Terrible enters. The crowd goes wild...


Being a mom is like being a cage fighter. No rules. Anything goes. Fight to the finish. There's blood, sweat, and tears...for the mom. And that's just from trying to get a toddler to get ready in the morning.

At night, I sometimes feel like those fighters that they interview after the fight who are barely coherent from one too many blows to the old noggin.  "Ya know, there at the end, I was just trying to make it to the bell..." Forget winning. I watched this one ultimate fighting match once where one of the fighters was pretty old for the sport. He didn't win, but people respected him for trying. His victory was that he made it to the end and that his young, whipper-snapper opponent didn't deliver a KO (knock-out). That's how I feel some days. Maybe I didn't teach my children Japanese today or proper etiquette at the dinner table; maybe the house isn't spotless; maybe dinner wasn't a gourmet meal (let's just say we had a panini with fruit and a nut cream tonight); but, we are still alive and well. Victory.

Being a mom is like being an olympic gymnast.

May 5

One day, when my second son was just a baby, we were at storytime at the library. When it was time to leave, my two year old decided that he didn't want to go yet. We were six feet from the doors, and Sam decided to do the sack of potatoes maneuver which then progressed into the helicopter arms, body wiggle evasive maneuver. I had Mark, only a few months old at the time, clutched in one arm while I tried to get a hold of my flailing two-year-old. I remember bending and moving in ways that I didn't think possible for the human body as I tried to hold onto one child while grabbing the other, all while maintaining a smile (that-I-wish-I-could-just-spank-my-child-right-now-but-spanking-is-bad-so-I-would-never-do-that-at-least-not-with-so-many-witnesses smile). And I remember thinking, "This must be what it feels like to be a gymnast in the Olympics." You're pushing your body beyond physical limits all while smiling for the crowd and pretending like it's easy. The only difference is that for moms, there's no cheering crowd, no gold medal. Just as well, the gold medal would probably just end up in the bottom of the toy box with the rest of my jewelry.

Being a mom (of a newborn especially) is like being a zombie

May 4

Scary-looking, brainless, the walking dead...these are all words that could describe a zombie OR the mother of a newborn baby. Now hear me out before you stop reading in a huff. When I had my first baby, I was very scary-looking for probably the first month. I know some moms don't ever go through this phase, but I'm going to be honest and say, I did. (Still do sometimes when all three boys have the stomach flu or some bug).

 I remember one late night walking by a mirror and seriously scaring myself with my reflection. I hadn't done my make-up in weeks, my hair in days...I'm not sure how long it had been since I had showered. I hadn't slept for longer than three hours at once, and I the dark circles and bags under my eyes were evidence of this. I was pale and exhausted and pasty and exhausted...and did I mention that I was exhausted?

I was also brainless. My sister mentioned the other day that some study found that pregnancy brain can last almost two years after having the baby. I believe that this is due to the scientific fact that babies in utero devour your brain cells, and everyone knows that you can't grow new ones. Add the lack of sleep, extra demands, and hormones, and I think it's a miracle that women even remember how to breathe. Was it breathe in or out first? I never can remember. I mean, I have a master's degree, but for awhile there, I could barely make complete sentences or use words with more than one syllable.

As for being feeling like the walking dead, I think that's the best description of what it feels like when you're a sleep-deprived, over-stressed new mommy. Some writer friends and I were into writing zombie haiku, and this is some of my zombie haiku written on the edges of the nursing chart that I used to keep track of things (that was when I had my first baby and thought I could be all organized like that--I kept track of how long he nursed, number of dirty diapers...needless to say, it didn't last long). Anyway, here's the tender thoughts I had in the middle of the night while nursing:

With dragging footsteps
In the middle of the night
Time for feeding.

Mom with no make-up--
A hideous sight to see,
Looks like a zombie.

Dark circles under eyes--
Resembling the living dead;
Not zombie--Mombie!

Being a mother is like being in a three-ring circus

May 3

A few months ago we were on a little vacation. It was actually a work trip for Nic, and we got to tag along. Every morning for breakfast, we (three little boys and I) had to cross a parking lot and go down a flight of stairs for the hotel breakfast buffet. Picture this: I had my six month old strapped to my chest in a baby carrier, my eighteen month old on my hip, and my three year old hanging onto my belt loop. We would make our way down the stairs, I would sit Sam down at a table, drag a high chair over, and then juggle glasses of juice to my offspring who would shortly spill said juice.

We had four mornings of this and I noticed that every morning we got the same two reactions: people were either astounded and amazed like we were a flying trapeze act or people openly laughed and were amused like we were clowns piling out of a miniature car. That's when I realized that being a mom is like being in a three ring circus.

I mean every mother knows how to juggle, figuratively and literally. And ask any mother who has ever stepped on a wooden block or toy car on the very top step while carrying a basket of laundry, every day is filled with death defying acts. Trying to sneak out of the room of a sleeping baby while not stepping on any of the creaky boards or noise-making toys that come out of nowhere is like tight rope walking, but with higher stakes. There are hoops to jump through, lions to tame, and crowds to entertain. Some days I feel like the elephant balancing on a tiny ball, working for peanuts. But, hey, I sure do like those peanuts.

Being a mom is like being on a soap opera.

This is from Honest Mom (here's the link to this post: honestmom.com). She has a ton of great stuff on her blog to make you smile or sigh with relief that someone else thinks as you do. And I know that people say that girls are a lot of drama, but I feel like there have been many Oscar worthy performances in my home as well. =)

May 2

HOW BEING A MOM IS LIKE BEING ON A SOAP OPERA

We moms may wear yoga pants all day, every day. Drive minivans whose interiors are coated in Cheerios and raisins. And be lucky if we got to drag a comb through our hair in the morning, let alone shower.

The glamorous aspects of our lives are easy to miss, I admit.

But trust me. Being a mom is actually full of drama, mystery, and intrigue.

In fact, being a mom is strangely just like being in a soap opera.

Think about it:

Someone is always losing her memory at a very convenient time. “Did you use markers on this stuffed doggie to make it a ‘rainbow doggie’?”  ”I don’t remember.”

Someone’s always coming back from the dead. Snow White’s head pops off and mommy fixes it. Baby Doll suffers a lethal gash to the abdomen and mommy sews it. A paper doll Fancy Nancy disappears and is presumed dead, but mommy finds it. They all come back. Resurrections galore.

Every day is filled with intrigue. What is that mystery smell in the basement? Who decided to color the rug with crayons? Where, for the love of God, is my kid’s beloved kitty cat that she lost for the third time today?

If there’s a secret to keep, it’s not going to be kept for long by the townsfolk. “Daddy, we made you a present for Father’s Day! But mommy told me not to tell you it’s a mug, so I can’t tell you what it is.”

Anytime two people are about to have sex, the scene gets interrupted. In soaps the interruption is in the form of a commercial, because daytime TV can only show so much. In parenting, the interruption is in the form of your kids. Or the dog. Or the iPhone pinging that you have a text. Not that I would ever look at a text during sex. That would be SO WRONG.

Characters tend to talk to themselves or think out loud. I walk around narrating my day, to the
dismayfascination of my captive audience. I do it because it helps me remember what I am walking into a room to get, and not because millions of people want to know if I will, indeed, find the glue gun. But you know. Same difference.

An illicit sibling is eventually discovered. Oh, wait. Is that just me?

Someone gets possessed. Like Marlena in Days of Our Lives, I too, can become possessed. Not by a demon, per say. Unless you consider Pinterest a demon. Which I kind of do, considering its slightly scary grip on me. Piiiiiin meeeeee. Piiiiiin meeeeeeee. Did you just hear that?

There is a crime on a daily basis and everyone denies being the perpetrator. Ah, intrigue again! The crime: spilled maple syrup on the table, chair, and floor. The suspects: my two daughters, who vehemently deny any wrongdoing. Will the threat of no cookies after dinner make one of them snap and confess?

There’s a love triangle. In my house, we have a love triangle, that’s for sure. Me and my two daughters, who fight over whose turn it is for mommy to read, shower them, help them get ready for bed … you name it, I’m in the middle. Surrounded by
crazy love.

People disappear from their beds in the middle of the night. And then reappear next to your bed. Looking for a glass of water at 2am.

See? Our days are positively filled with drama and mystery!

A borrowed post on parenting

This is a post from: The Actual Pastor (http://www.stevewiens.com/2013/03/12/to-parents-of-small-children-let-me-be-the-one-who-says-it-out-loud/)
I just loved this, especially--You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out a way for your children to eat as healthy as your friend’s children do. She’s obviously using a bizarre and probably illegal form of hypnotism. 
Ha ha! That made me laugh because it is too true for me! And I enjoyed the message of this post--it's okay to admit that being a parent is tough because it is. I can't find the exact quote right now, but it goes something like this: I'm not a failure as a mother, I'm just having a bad moment. We all have bad moments and we all have good moments. Having bad moments doesn't make us a failure, it just makes us human. And children can be very humbling. Any time that I feel like I might be getting the hang of this mother thing, the boys like to throw out something new.

For example, the other day we were at the planetarium and Sam was having a complete melt-down because he wanted to go to this other place. I knew that he would love the planetarium if he would just give it a chance, but he was beyond reasoning. So there I was just inside the doors of the planetarium with Mark and Cole in the double stroller and Sam screaming and crying that he didn't want to be there. I knelt down next to Sam and very calmly told him that he had two choices--we could turn around right then, get back in the car, and go home OR we could give the planetarium a try. Then I quickly pointed out  a couple of cool things. I told him to take a deep breath, count to four, and decide. What I really wanted to do was pull my hair out, spank the kid, and retreat. But it actually worked. He calmed down, chose the planetarium and ended up having a great time. As we were waiting for a little video to start, this man came up to me and told me that he and his friend had been in the lobby during our little melt-down. He said that he worked as a flight attendant and has seen a lot in his profession. He then complimented me on how I handled the situation, saying that I handled it "just right" and that he could tell that I am a good mom. I had two thoughts, I wanted to cry and hug that man because I never feel like that and two, I want to recognize the good and compliment the parents that I see as I'm out and about. I was on cloud nine! He made my day.

Fast forward two days later. I'm at a store. Sam is having another melt-down because he really wants me to buy him this expensive toy. I explain to him that it costs money and that we don't have the money to buy the toy at that time. I try to give him choices. I try the count to four idea. I try reasoning, positive consequences (aka bribing), negative consequences (aka threats)...nothing works. I end up just ignoring him as he screams, face turning purple, for the entire 15-20 minutes it takes me to hurry and finish my shopping. I'm glad my flight attendant friend wasn't there that day.

Ups and downs. It's life. It's motherhood.

Anyway, on to the post:

To parents of small children: Let me be the one who says it out loud

March 12, 2013 — 1,008 Comments

I am in a season of my life right now where I feel bone tired almost all of the time. Ragged, how-am-I-going-to-make-it-to-the-end-of-the-day, eyes burning exhausted.

I have three boys ages 5 and under. I’m not complaining about that. Well, maybe I am a little bit. But I know that there are people who would give anything for a house full of laughter & chaos. I was that person for years and years; the pain of infertility is stabbing and throbbing and constant. I remember allowing hope to rise and then seeing it crash all around me, month after month, for seven years. I am working on another post about infertility that will come at a later date.

But right now, in my actual life, I have three boys ages five and under. There are many moments where they are utterly delightful, like last week when Isaac told my sister-in-law that “My daddy has hair all over.” Or when Elijah put a green washcloth over his chin and cheeks, and proudly declared,“Daddy! I have a beard just like you!” Or when Ben sneaks downstairs in the morning before the other boys do, smiles at me, and says, “Daddy and Ben time.”

But there are also many moments when I have no idea how I’m going to make it until their bedtime. The constant demands, the needs, and the fighting are fingernails across the chalkboard every single day.  

One of my children is for sure going to be the next Steve Jobs. I now have immense empathy for his parents. He has a precise vision of what he wants — exactly that way and no other way. Sometimes it’s the way his plate needs to be centered exactly to his chair, or how his socks go on, or exactly how the picture of the pink dolphin needs to look – with brave eyes, not sad eyes, daddy! He is a laser beam, and he is not satisfied until it’s exactly right.

I have to confess that sometimes the sound of his screaming drives me to hide in the pantry. And I will neither confirm nor deny that while in there, I compulsively eat chips and/or dark chocolate. 

There are people who say this to me:

“You should enjoy every moment now! They grow up so fast!”

I usually smile and give some sort of guffaw, but inside, I secretly want to hold them under water. Just for a minute or so. Just until they panic a little.

If you have friends with small children — especially if your children are now teenagers or if they’re grown – please vow to me right now that you will never say this to them. Not because it’s not true, but because it really, really doesn’t help.

We know it’s true that they grow up too fast. But feeling like I have to enjoy every moment doesn’t feel like a gift, it feels like one more thing that is impossible to do, and right now, that list is way too long. Not every moment is enjoyable as a parent; it wasn’t for you, and it isn’t for me. You just have obviously forgotten. I can forgive you for that. But if you tell me to enjoy every moment one more time, I will need to break up with you.

If you are a parent of small children, you know that there are moments of spectacular delight, and you can’t believe you get to be around these little people. But let me be the one who says the following things out loud:

You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out a way for your children to eat as healthy as your friend’s children do. She’s obviously using a bizarre and probably illegal form of hypnotism.

You are not a terrible parent if you yell at your kids sometimes. You have little dictators living in your house. If someone else talked to you like that, they’d be put in prison.

You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out how to calmly give them appropriate consequences in real time for every single act of terrorism that they so creatively devise.

You are not a terrible parent if you’d rather be at work.

You are not a terrible parent if you just can’t wait for them to go to bed.

You are not a terrible parent if the sound of their voices sometimes makes you want to drink and never stop.

You’re not a terrible parent.

You’re an actual parent with limits. You cannot do it all. We all need to admit that one of the casualties specific to our information saturated culture is that we have sky-scraper standards for parenting, where we feel like we’re failing horribly if we feed our children chicken nuggets and we let them watch TV in the morning.

One of the reasons we are so exhausted is that we are oversaturated with information about the kind of parents we should be.

So maybe it’s time to stop reading the blogs that tell you how to raise the next President who knows how to read when she’s three and who cooks, not only eats, her vegetables. Maybe it’s time to embrace being the kind of parent who says sorry when you yell. Who models what it’s like to take time for yourself. Who asks God to help you to be a better version of the person that you actually are, not for more strength to be an ideal parent.

So the next time you see your friends with small children with that foggy and desperate look in their eyes, order them a pizza and send it to their house that night. Volunteer to take their kids for a few hours so they can be alone in their own house and have sex when they’re not so tired, for heaven’s sake. Put your hand on their shoulder, look them in the eyes, and tell them that they’re doing a good job. Just don’t freak out if they start weeping uncontrollably. Most of the time, we feel like we’re botching the whole deal and our kids will turn into horrible criminals who hate us and will never want to be around us when they’re older.

You’re bone tired. I’m not sure when it’s going to get better. Today might be a good day or it might be the day that you lost it in a way that surprised even yourself.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You’re not alone.