"Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life."

In the past year since going back to work, I have put every personal growth category I have into full force except this one. My words and my writing. This little blog is so important to me. It holds so much of my metamorphosis- my decision to trade freedom for motherhood. If I were to perish tomorrow I would hope that these entries would be printed for my girls. So far, this is what I have going for them. My unrelenting attempts to be enough mother for their present and future.



Some may be alarmed at my comparison of freedom and motherhood. And frankly, I think these words to be antonyms. There is nothing free about motherhood. Motherhood created a knot that can never unwound, no matter what. And I have two. Freedom means you are a free bird, fluttering in the wind, time is at your disposal, no binds to anything or anyone. I have two.



Social media makes reminders. Reminders that most people I know have completely mapped out their procreation. The birth dates, the nurseries, the chemical free paint, the Harvard preschools. I have no jealousy, just reminders. My husband and I did not plan but we created. We create the home, even if we don't own it yet. The blankets were fluffed and ready. Todd even built the crib. We prepared as we had to. Sometimes five steps behind... usually ten. Moving earnestly forward to fulfill goals and trying not to lose sight of our dreams. The ones we felt deeply before the thought of family ever existed.



Now as my girls grow I am more reminded of this. Olivia and Mila deserve everything. So I try harder. Every day I try and fail and sometimes succeed at perfecting myself to my fullest potential. Mind, body, spirit. I remind myself of this every damn day. It's consuming. So after the laundry, job, bedtime stories, workout, time alone, playdates.... My words are left behind. But. I need them.

I need to spill over this keyboard so that in 15 years my kids can read this and know that their unprepared parents love them from here to the furthest known universe and back one million times. My silly blog posts transcend every shortcoming because in them is the most raw and exposed time capsule. Here I am right now, little more than a month from my LITTLE PEA turning FOUR. This blows my mind into every direction. Almost half a decade. A love so big I still do not know how it fits into my body. And then it doubled. So here I am... Loving you much bigger than I will ever be. Always.

heart and stars.

When I think of the resilience of spirit of my two children it makes me fill with pride and also creates a major pull at my gut. They are so adaptable- as Todd and I hustle though the hurdles, putting it all into creating the foundation for the rest of our lives. They deserve the best and we want to create that.



 Lately this means they are apart from us for periods in the day. It means we are busy, our days hectic. And they roll with every curve. Vibrant and confident and smiley. It is because they're young and fresh but also because they are loved. At our home, at my parents', and their daycare. Daily I try to push back that part of me that reminds me that working away from home is not the best option for them. And so then I must meditate on the fact that in life we must do our best in every situation. All my cards are bet on the fact that putting forth every ounce of me will benefit my girls.




 And if I am ever home late, which thankfully is rare, I can sneak into Olivia's room and whisper in her ear that I love her. And even in her deepest sleep she will open her eyes to meet mine and smile. Back to dreamland she goes but content knowing mommy is home. So then I whisper to them:


"i love you.
  i love you.
    i love you.
      i love you."

And I know that in the dark it resonates and puts that swagger in their walk day after day. 

Mila for Carter's

Clueless that her face was all over the place...

See.

Then there is that moment where you realize you have two daughters. The realization left me feeling like someone had thrown ice water on my face while I was asleep. Suddenly, I was super alert and horrified.



There are so many implications when raising females in our society. I want to cultivate in them a sense of confidence, courage, and humility. It is a delicate balance between three extremely important attributes. Then, all this pondering just reminded me that before I can expect my daughters to grow up with these characterisitcs I have to cement them into my own persona.

I have to to admit that having children has created "body image" issues that I had never had before. It is because I accepted the life I was creating, I accepted the gorgeous blossoming belly, but I hadn't accepted the aftermath. I dieted. I ran 40 miles in a week at one point. I fit back into old jeans, my scale told me I was back to my previous size. But, I was ever the harsh critic. My skin looked different, my stomach had prints from motherhood. I wanted to feel in a bikini like I had at 21.

Today something shifted as I was watching Olivia serenade me (as per usual). She  recently decided to take her art scissors to her bangs and completely butchered them. It seemed as if the stars aligned and I suddenly had all of the clarity in the world. I saw her funny bangs, as does everyone else. But, her face is just as beautiful. Her spirit is just as vibrant. The effects of growing up had not altered her magic. And then it made perfect sense. She has taught me yet another lesson.



(Feeling fantastic after her self-makeover.)

I am not supposed to look the same. Everything about me is different and more spread out. My mind, my heart, my intentions. Everything I do is no longer about me and this body has housed this version of me that is far superior to any younger version. Now with pride I can really look at these hips and remember I housed my two tiny bits of the future. It is my responsibility to ensure they make our world better without focusing on frivolous hangups. Now, I must nourish every facet of their worth without wasting time on silly things like choppy bangs and stretch marks.

Cheddar hiatus.

(All photos on this post by Natalie Holford.)




After a blur of months from September-January I am on a hiatus from my work. When I say blur that is literally what I envision when I look back. A 6AM alarm clock, hurried shower, clothes thrown onto my body and my kids' bodies, chugs of coffee, quick drop-off at daycare kisses.



But, we did it. We got a flow. My gut literally twisted at fleeting moments of the day and I am sure my girls had moments of "WTF where is my mom?" but we did good. There was a routine. We had our chaotic daddy-cooked family dinners and I folded my body into Olivia's mini bed for a story most nights. Then there was that phase in December where I was away far too many hours. And there were tears.



Now I find myself with no set schedule in hand and shock of the switch is staggering. I mean, I wake up and stare at two pairs of large, expectant eyes and I wonder- How did I spend so much time away from you? And before that, how did I spend so much time with you? There must be a manual somewhere.



So, here I find myself. With polar opportunities once again. The comfort and the sacrifice. A few doors are open but how to choose? I have no idea what is the next step that will suit us best but for now I guess there will be many park days, random explorations of the backyard, and moments where I will miss where I was when I was missing them.

The gold star.

One month and six days ago I wrote a letter to my daughters and published it here. It was just another programmed sequence of letters and symbols in webland but it meant a whole lot to me. It tugged at my heart in a way I have never felt as I drove away from their daycare provider's home, making my stomach weigh a million pounds, my eyes were so blurry. I felt like I was at once making them proud, and also failing. Olivia told me I looked "shiny and pretty". I walked into my new office feeling confident and proud. I thought of them as I sat at a gray desk with a large screen in front of me. I constantly needed the reminder that they would one day be proud of me. But, I had to do good work. I had to do it all and do it well.

Now, I have been at it and I can tell you that out of the depths of longing and missing them I found ME again. The me that was not drowning under a lack of creative stimulation, no time to write. No material other than two beautiful faces. I was immersed in tiny limbs and mini sounds and playgrounds. I loved it. And resented it. I was not me, but I love them so much.

Dare I say I am here now? Platform pumps, novel in my purse, baby on hip? Red lipstick, big words, skipping around our living room with my (almost) 3 year old baby girl? Am I really sort of pulling it off? I sit down to a solitary lunch decorated with the downtown San Diego skyline, it's really quiet. I wish I could text Olivia that I love them. I'd remind her to take care of her baby sister.

Do not judge me. Devoted mama, wife, moneymaker.

I can say I start each day with earnest ambition. I will do my best. I will strive for the gold star sticker on every hat that I try to wear every day. Some are better than others but I start all days the same way.

With lots of heart, a little style, and a hint grace. They fuel me.

Plus.

To my sweet girls,

I apologize for my drama, but I cannot sleep without addressing a letter to you. You are sleeping heavily, I wish I knew what you dream of. Tomorrow our lives will be different. I will have yet another purpose, a new hat to wear. My heart feels both heavy and excited, cautious and confident. My role as full-time mama is going to shift. But, I rebel against that idea. You're the reason I chose this, for you I will work extra hard. Not only will I fight to be the best mother to you; I will also be fighting to better myself everywhere. A better wife, businesswoman, daughter, sister, friend, person.

I will no longer catch every new saying, every laugh, every tantrum. There will be things I'll miss. This awareness makes a pit in my stomach, but I also have to remember. I am the product of a career woman, a "working" mom. The strongest presence in my life, the most reliable constant. She was there now, is here now. For you, for us. From her I also draw a great strength. Thanks to her I am ready and qualified. I can do this, and I will do it well.

I carry you both wherever I go. In every pore, idea, glance at the clock.

Thank you for inspiring me.

-Mami

The little mama turned one...

And we had to celebrate the first year of the sweetest baby girl this side of the Mississippi.







She has filled my life and heart with the best example of a life well lived... find joy in simplicity, happiness in a new day. Mila rises with a huge smile on her chubby face, and goes to sleep all cuddled up to fluffy pillows and her mama that loves her so immensely. Thank you baby girl.

It's show time...

This blog is no stranger to the theme of the inspiration that comes from mothering and the constant ways that this role in my life has evolved me. Interestingly, I have suddenly been hit with the hard fact that although I have been at this mommy gig 2.5 years+ I still hadn't 't hit "real time" until now. My children's needs were so easy to meet. Belly fed, warm, clean, and loved. Easy to fulfill.

Now, that exact same pair of olive eyes that started this whole thing is watching every move I make. She notices everything. The way I walk, say certain words, put on lipstick, and bite the inside of my cheek. It's so cute, usually. Seeing her walk down the hall in my high heels, her tiny butt in Mickey underwear. She packs a purse before we leave and puts on body lotion.  But, there are moments when my influence on her is so apparent it shocks me. I am on stage!



It's so important to be real with my children. I do not want to feign perfection (even if I could) because it would be a lie. I want them to look up to and admire the person I am because it makes we want to be better. I idolize my mother to her core, to who she is when no one is around to see. What more could you ask for? Kids that adore you even more when they realize there are things in you that separate you from the rest of the world. I cannot believe my daughters can be even better, or worse, because of who I am.

We have come to the point where I have to stop my constant use of expletives and incorrect teeth brushing technique. Olivia seems to record every subtlety about us and now we know that one of her strongest attributes is that she is so glaringly aware of her surroundings. She's completely in tune with her environment and how everything happens. Ever since we began to maintain some sort of routine and constancy to her daily grind there are far less fits and better sleep at night. And between all of that are the days that make up this chapter of her life. Childhood. So incredibly important! This is when we became who we were meant to be, it's when we needed more from life than a hug and kiss from mom.

I come out of the midst of the days that are too short and too packed to keep writing on this little Internet spot of mine. There's the bossy 2.5 year old, crawling (almost) 11 month old, 1/2 marathon in two weeks, and pile of laundry that will soon enclose us as we sleep. I am too wiped to even type anything worthy. There so much I want to touch on, so many exciting/trying/awesome/overwhelming/sunny/new happenings to share. I will soon bore you with every detail of what goes on, but in the meantime, I must wish you all the loveliest of mother's days.

A day late, but every day we're on the job.

Hermanitas.

Today I left my parent's place after spending the afternoon with my sister watching True Blood. The details of our time do not matter at all since I drove off and found myself daydreaming other details. Are my girls going to have our connection? Unspoken understanding?

I should probably explain. My sister and I are just two weeks (to the day) shy of being three years apart. I remember when my mom's water broke and all the late-night commotion. Movie scenes. My dad's hurried movements as I sat on the floor in fleece footie pajamas, my mom's purple nightgown, the awful brown shag rugs. I knew something important was happening but was way too young to begin to comprehend. My sister, my DNA in another variation. We are so different.

There are two things I am curious about. One is, the fact that Paloma and I are such unique individuals. I think we understand each other yet not always agree. She boils my blood, calms my fears, is so intuitive to me. The second is, will they like each other? I mean, really. I adore my sister. I see her beautiful spirit and lightness more clearly than anyone. I know this. As I drove home, wondered, will my girls know each other's light?

Will they really see my soul divided into two between them? We are so much of where we came from.



Often they sit together, both guilty of a disaster of toys scattered all over the floors. Their little figures each sitting on the only toy-free patch of the rug. Both so beautiful to me, I am often still in awe that they are real. I love them as two but together it's just mind-blowing. Me, then one, and another. 

o.

her hands are bitty
as they fit over mine
i am reminded of
the small, the tiny
how truly miniscule
her life is so far

the presence of she-
a being so huge
sometimes i forget
she just got here
just started.

SOS

I sat down at the keyboard tonight and stared at my blog's URL for about 35 straight seconds. What the hell do I write about? After browsing through my usual blog reel I am left feeling sort of empty. My house isn't that clean, big, or manicured. The lighting usually sucks for photos and frankly it's not even *my* house. My creative energy is shot when I finally have time to whip up some super-awesome-DIY crafts and my children are cute but their clothes never match.* Other notable blogs make me feel lame.

Sometimes when I write I feel a great sense of fulfillment because words have always been my best friends. I discovered them early and they've since been stashed under my arm in the form of books or forced inbetween the lines of notebook paper in such a personal way. When someone writes me and says they can relate/enjoy/bother to read what I type it truly fills me with an enormous sense of well-being. Not only did I medicate my spirit with putting my emotions into sentences but someone else actually felt something from it. Wow. Rad.

So, for those of you reading. THANK YOU. I am sorry if you have e-mailed me and I haven't written back. I will. But, I need your help. How do you do it? Nurture your kids, keep your home clean, your husband satiated, shave your legs, make cool shit, cook something delicious, and feed your magnificent female brain ALL IN ONE DAY? Please. I am feeling inadequate. Either I am the semi-together mom having fun with her kids or the housewife en pointe with housework and having something ready for the husband to eat when he comes home.

Mila's bed is completely full of clean laundry that needs to put away (it's not like she sleeps in it) and last time I tried to cook with both kids awake and by myself I got all hot and bothered. Not in a good way. I think of every hat my mother wore my entire 0-22 life. Full-time career, housework, cooking, LOVING HER FAMILY SO FULLY, being the hero, generally saving the day no matter what. How exhausting. I need to be rich just to shower her with monetary gratitude because she deserves the world and I want to buy it for her someday. Show me how!



*My girl Adriana shared a similar sentiment here and so beautifully.

An appropriate muse.

I am going to come right out and say it. Having one kid is heaven, and having a toddler plus a baby is a true exercise in two very important things. One, is mothering your kid in a way that is loving and beneficial. The other is reminding yourself daily that you aren't going to fuck up your kid because your personal flaws become so horrifyingly apparent.



Lately I have been thinking back a lot to the writer I named Olivia Simone after, and how the books I read of hers in the months before becoming pregnant (unknowingly) would now tie back into my life over three years later.

It's frightening to think that you mark your children merely by being yourself... It seems unfair. You can't assume the responsibility for everything you do — or don't do.

-Simone de Beauvoir, Les Belles Images (1966), Ch. 3

I recall reading these very words, tucked into an uncomfortable Ikea couch with a purring cat nestled under my legs. They sort of embedded themselves as soon as my eyes scanned them, I thought to myself: My children will be different, thinkers. They'll be cute and quirky, never bratty. I will never lose myself in them.



And now you fast forward and there is a yellow-haired hurricane sleeping in the next room. She breathes heavily even in her sleep, her cheeks always rosy no matter what. I wonder what she dreams of. So intense, always. I disliked the term "terrible twos" but we are in the throes of that perfectly coined term. It's a constant struggle. Sure, it's sprinkled with triumphs, great conversations, and belly laughs but it's surely tough. And tiring. It's brought some negative thoughts.



Today I wondered, as I wrangled her into the bathtub after she spilled her potty in a defiant attempt to empty it herself, what my life would be like now if she hadn't come along. I'd have time, my patience stores would be full, and I would be a lot more relaxed. The bad was fleeting. It quickly became mushy and I almost felt the back of my eyes tighten. Those knobby knees! wild eyes! neck hugs! I would not know those?! It shocked my feminist literature loving side- My daughter showed me who I am. My individuality is caught somewhere between where she starts and who I am now.

Now that I analyze this more consciously I am aware of what I want to change within myself so that I can be a better person for the girls. Examples: I (finally) stopped my disgusting habit of picking my nails and Olivia stopped biting hers. My borrowed "whisper when you want to raise your voice" trick makes Olivia actually stop and look at me, and when I just really need a breather I send my husband a frantic text to SOS, COME HOME ASAP. Every single day Olivia challenges my flawed, selfish nature and every single day I fight my errors. I guess this mothering thing is one of two teachers- the mother and child. I am hoping that my earnest efforts will help cancel out my imperfections.

And if all other desperate attempts at sanity fail, there is always the after bedtime cocktail.

Enjoy.

If I could use one verb to describe my mothering of Mila so far it would be: enjoy. I have enjoyed every day of being her mother. Yes, every day. Of course there are moments where I think it'd be nice to get a pedicure, or watch an early movie, sneak in a haircut- any daytime on my own. She has been at every haircut, every pedicure. She is my velcro baby, always attached to me. My theory is that this is why she is so "easy", she is with her comfort 24/7. But, I digress.

With this second child I already knew how deeply I'd fall in love. I knew how breastfeeding really hurts at first. That sleep would be my long lost lover. That she would be the most beautiful creature, right there in front of me. Olivia taught me and I was a good student. I wanted to be an earth mama because that is how nature intended. I'd wear her close, feed her my milk, keep chemicals away.

These parenting choices (breastfeeding, cloth diapering, babywearing, attachment parenting) have not only seamlessly fit into our small family but also brought me into a community of inspiring women. So many amazing mamas, all so different, but with a common ground. Tiny, happy babies. Thriving off of pure mama love.

#momlife

With the popularity of mom blogs and the rapid spread of information that the internet allows I feel that mothers now have a soapbox that was never there before. A means of expressing the triumphs, failures, delights, woes, and perils of procreating. It's refreshing to see I am not the only one with "motherhood existentialism". Most of these writings that go viral seem to be written by mothers who do not work outside the home, for whatever reason. Some because childcare is too expensive, others because the financial need is not there, and many because they purposely choose not to.

I fall under a particular category. Yes, I chose to stay home in a way, but me working would make far more work for my family than we can handle at the moment. It entails so many things. What I would make versus childcare FOR TWO, needing more help from Todd while his plate is already overflowing, and the idea I have of my two babies in someone else's care for most of their waking hours.

I've done the working thing before. If you read this blog often enough you know that. And if I am going to continue writing here I have to be honest. Sometimes I find myself missing my 25 minute commute to work. Alone. My 15 minute Starbucks breaks. Alone. My paychecks. Adult interaction. Having MY THING. But, frankly, there is no ME in MOTHER.



Even though our situation isn't always ideal, I still go to bed every night thankful that I get to be with these two all day. Every day. They are my job, my priority. What do you do? I mother. My attempts are honest and true, hopefully I'm doing what is best. Some days at the office suck, my bosses are two and 7 months and can be volatile.

So here, on my own little soapbox, I will share one thing I have learned. One aspect of this whole "stay at home mom" job that seems to transcend the tantrums, frump, stickiness, and challenges of being the queen bee.

This is a career of moments. It should never be measured by big projects, or the deadlines of milestones. Sometimes I want to scream, but have to remind myself that this is the most fleeting phase. It certainly isn't forever, but it is so crucial, even if it won't mean anything on my resume. It's just as short as they are.

Have you seen this?

I cannot believe how guilty I am!

7 months.

I cannot even believe I am posting this. My Mila will be 7 MONTHS OLD on Tuesday. Unreal. Baffling. She is closer to 1 than 0. It feels like just yesterday I was blogging about her with a baby bump keeping me from getting too close to the keyboard.



She is so lovely, so sweet.

My letters to her were always address to "Baby Honey" since she didn't have an official name. How did I know that Honey would be so fitting? She is like sugar, smells like sweetness, her hair is the color of honey. I would eat her up if I could.



Size: She wears 9-12 clothing lately, although some 6-9 fits also. She is long, not sure exactly what her height is. She weighs around 17lbs. (I looked back, and this is what Olivia weighed at her 9-10 month check-up).

Milestones: She sits, grabs what she wants, rolls, vocalizes, lots of raspberries, smiles, laughing, coos, dinosaur noises. Still not even close to crawling. Recognizes those she sees daily, extraordinarily attached to me, thinks her sister is hilarious. Definite stranger anxiety. Mila is a mama's girl because mama has the goods.

Food: Still exclusively breastfed. Now that we have it down, without any shields or issues, I am enjoying it so much. There is nothing more relaxing than sitting to nurse, or laying to nurse. I guess there is just nothing more relaxing than her warm body pressed against mine as I provide her all the comfort and nutrition she could possibly wants. I've become one of those moms who says I LOVE BREASTFEEDING. And I do.

She hates solids. Practically gags. I have tried several things but I am in no huge rush. Honey's thriving on my milk and that is good enough for me.



Sleep: I have to say, but I am hesitant to jinx it. Okay, I will tell you anyway. She is SO EASY to put down at night. For 7 months, we have had seamless bedtimes. Yes, we cosleep and she still nurses throughout the night but I can put her down around 7pm and she just drifts off to sleepy land. We lay down, I nurse her, and that is it. What a blessing! No super long naps during the day, just sporadic cat naps.



People often comment on her extremely calm and easy demeanor. She is a bit shy, reserved. Analyzes and studies the world. Listens intently. In my opinion she is the poster child of an attached, breastfed baby that gets to be with her mom all day. Best thing ever: The giggle fits the girls have. Mila gets a kick out of Olivia, and Olivia gets a kick out of Mila giggling. It's contagious.

I love them so much I could burst.