I have put up this blog to write down my thoughts about marriage and motherhood. But somehow all the articles I have been reposting have been about kids and parenting. I think it is timely I found an article about marriage, as this is equally (if not more) important. Our lives are so much different (but a fulfilling one I must say!) now, with kids and all. I wonder what would it be like to bring back the good old days..to be carefree and have so much time in our hands, even just for a day. That is why we make it a point to have a "couple only vacation" and date nights from time to time so we can spend quality time and reconnect with one another. I am planning to let my husband read this as well, just so he knows he his missed dearly! :)
'Dear Husband, Sometimes I Miss You'
by: Christine Organ
All those years ago, when we were fresh-faced and starry-eyed newlyweds with all the time in the world, there were so many things about marriage and parenting, and marriage while parenting, that I just didn’t understand. I didn’t know date nights would be playing Stratego late at night and Sunday night movies. I had no idea we would eventually create our own language of sighs, groans, and giggles to be substituted for entire sentences so that without saying a word, we would know exactly what each other is trying to say. And I didn’t think it would be possible to miss you so much even though I see you every day.
But it is. And I do.
I miss you.
Even though we live under the same roof, share a bed and a life, and try like hell to get some alone time every now and then, there are days and weeks and months when life gets in the way. Either you’re working long hours or I’m working long hours, or we’re both working long hours. We’re busy parenting and adulting and taking care of all the things. Tiny little humans who call us Mom and Dad clamor for our time and attention. Bosses and clients and deadlines call to us from our computer screens. Parents, siblings, and friends need and deserve our attention as well. We are pulled in a million different directions by a million different things and by the end of the day, it is all we can do to not to fall asleep on the couch while watching five minutes of Jimmy Fallon.
We know that our marriage is at the center of this little family of ours, and so we do our best to make time for each other. We plan date nights and stay up late watching a movie together. We splurge on the occasional kid-free vacation — a night here or an indulgently long weekend there. We “talk” via text and emails throughout the day. We check in with quick “how’s your day going?” and send each other silly memes on the days when the other could use a pick-me-up. We’ve learned to make not just the hours, but the minutes, count.
And still, there are times when I miss you.
There are days when I miss the long conversations about everything and nothing at all. When I miss lazy Sunday mornings in bed. When I miss being able to start a sentence and finish that same sentence without tiny voices interrupting us with “Guess what, Dad?” and “Mom, can I have…” When I miss taking the train home from work together and reading books together and going out for brunch together.
There are days when I miss seeing you and touching you and breathing the same air as you. When I miss knowing the simple details of your day, like what you ate for lunch and how long your commute took. When I miss the sound of your laugh.
There are days when I miss you.
You spend long hours doing hard and good work to provide for and take care of our family. You answer client emails and lead conference calls. You write legal documents and stand before judges in a courtroom. You put out fires and fight the good fight. And then you run to catch the commuter train so you can watch the second half of our son’s baseball game. You play with our younger son and ask him about his day. You spend a few hours breaking up fights and reminding the kids to brush their teeth, before sitting down in front of the computer for a couple more hours of work after the bedtime routine is finally done.
I, too, spend long hours doing hard and good work to provide for and take care of our family. I shuffle kids to school and the swimming pool and eye doctor appointments, fitting in work obligations between it all. I help with homework and check backpacks and remind the kids to brush their teeth, before sitting down in front of the computer for a couple more hours of work after the bedtime routine is finally done.
We are both doing hard and good work to provide for and take care of our family in our own ways.
Sometimes it feels like there are cosmic forces at work trying to keep us from spending too much time together. Just when life settles down in your world, it heats up in mine. Or vice versa. One weekend I’m out of town, and then you’re out of town, and then family comes to visit. Just when the two of us seem to have things under control, some kind of emergency or last minute social plans will flip life upside-down again.
None of this is unique to us. This is, after all, what it means to be an adult, to be a parent, and to be a spouse. We are surrounded by people clamoring for our time and attention. We are pulled in a million different directions. We are asked to be everything to everyone. And as much as we want to focus on each other, as much as we need to be each other’s one and only, sometimes doing what is right for the family and the tiny humans who call us Mom and Dad take priority.
And we miss each other.
But maybe the missing each other isn’t a bad thing. Maybe the missing each other is actually a good thing?
It is in the missing you that I remember the passion and romance of those fresh-faced and starry-eyed days. It is in the missing you that I become acutely aware once again of how much I need you. It is in the missing you that I know without a doubt how much you love and care for our children and our family. It is in the missing you that I am reminded that you are still my one and only.
So until the next date night, the next stolen kiss, the next movie night — until the next long weekend away, the next indulgent vacation, the next snuggle on the couch… Until then, I will miss you because I love you — even more than when we were fresh-faced and starry-eyed newlyweds with all the time in the world.
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
My Current Season
I have been posting articles that I have easily related with regards to my motherhood journey. But if there is one that strongly resonates my thoughts and feelings, this article has to be it. I applaud the author for being able to capture motherhood into words so well. She couldn't have said it any better.
'The Heaviness of Motherhood'
by: Marielle Petkoff
Before having kids, everyone always tells you to enjoy having the freedom to not have to worry about anyone but yourself. It’s hard to fully understand what they’re talking about. Taking care of yourself is all you’ve ever really known, after all. Sure, you have people that you care about and love and even worry about on a daily basis, but it’s not the same as having kids.
Motherhood is so heavy.
From the moment you find out you’re expecting, you literally begin to carry the weight of that child.
They place that squirming, squished-up infant on your chest for the first time and in that instant, your life is changed forever. The feeling is permanently ingrained in my memory. The moment my firstborn entered this world, I felt the heaviness. The connection, the responsibility, and the weight were overwhelming. Despite all the books I had read, forums I had browsed, and blogs I had bookmarked, I felt utterly unequipped, unprepared, and totally undeserving of the perfect little human placed in my hands.
It’s like God literally takes a piece of your heart, gives it chubby hands and scrunchy lips, and places it outside your body for you to care for. It’s extraordinarily wonderful — and indescribably terrifying. No matter what situation is thrown your way, from that moment on, you’re suddenly expected to know how to deal with it. It’s as if birthing a child gives you magical insight into how to raise one. It’s a lot of responsibility, and it’s hard, so hard. So hard. You love that little piece of your heart so much, but you almost can’t bear the weight of knowing you can’t undo this, and that it will never stop — not on the weekends, not on vacation days, and not even on sick days. There are no breaks.
You think back to the freedom of your child-free life and suddenly understand why people called it “freedom.”
Once you become a mother, things that used to seem so easy become so much work, like trying to leave the house on time or running a few “quick” errands. Things that used to feel like basic everyday tasks now feel like luxuries, like having more than five minutes to make dinner, folding and putting away the laundry, or sleeping from night until morning. Things are different when the responsibility of another human being lies on your shoulders, when someone else’s needs come before your own, when the world you once knew suddenly ceases to exist permanently.
It’s almost like there’s a timer in your head, ticking, ticking, ticking. Every time you try to get away or take a break from mothering, it taunts you. You can’t escape it. You try to take a day to yourself, to go away for a week or even just a few hours, but the ticking never stops. You can’t even leave your child with a babysitter without hearing it.
When the party starts going longer than expected, it gets louder. You watch the clock, wondering if your kids are still okay and if you can sneak out without being noticed, pushing yourself to stay cool for just 10 more minutes. Or five more minutes. Or, okay, now, you have to leave now. They probably need you. Your kids need you. You can feel the weight, pulling you back, pulling you home to them. The longer you try to get away or ignore it, the louder it gets. You look at the people around you who don’t have kids, remembering what it felt like to be them, to have the freedom to stay late after the party or to make last-minute plans.
The weight of being a mother is heavy, indeed. Some days, it feels like it’s squashing you, requiring more strength and energy than you possess. The constant and unending responsibility seems like more than you can bear. It’s a lot to carry.
But that’s the thing about lifting weights, it leads to change. The change doesn’t happen overnight; it’s not instantaneous. But slowly, over time, you begin to transform. Each day you get a little stronger, until one day, you wake up and realize you hardly feel the weight at all. The weight has become easier to carry. It becomes second nature, a part of who you are. You carry it with you without even noticing it’s there. You have transformed into a stronger, more capable, more selfless version of yourself without even noticing.
Motherhood is so heavy, but you’re strong enough to carry it.
'The Heaviness of Motherhood'
by: Marielle Petkoff
Before having kids, everyone always tells you to enjoy having the freedom to not have to worry about anyone but yourself. It’s hard to fully understand what they’re talking about. Taking care of yourself is all you’ve ever really known, after all. Sure, you have people that you care about and love and even worry about on a daily basis, but it’s not the same as having kids.
Motherhood is so heavy.
From the moment you find out you’re expecting, you literally begin to carry the weight of that child.
They place that squirming, squished-up infant on your chest for the first time and in that instant, your life is changed forever. The feeling is permanently ingrained in my memory. The moment my firstborn entered this world, I felt the heaviness. The connection, the responsibility, and the weight were overwhelming. Despite all the books I had read, forums I had browsed, and blogs I had bookmarked, I felt utterly unequipped, unprepared, and totally undeserving of the perfect little human placed in my hands.
It’s like God literally takes a piece of your heart, gives it chubby hands and scrunchy lips, and places it outside your body for you to care for. It’s extraordinarily wonderful — and indescribably terrifying. No matter what situation is thrown your way, from that moment on, you’re suddenly expected to know how to deal with it. It’s as if birthing a child gives you magical insight into how to raise one. It’s a lot of responsibility, and it’s hard, so hard. So hard. You love that little piece of your heart so much, but you almost can’t bear the weight of knowing you can’t undo this, and that it will never stop — not on the weekends, not on vacation days, and not even on sick days. There are no breaks.
You think back to the freedom of your child-free life and suddenly understand why people called it “freedom.”
Once you become a mother, things that used to seem so easy become so much work, like trying to leave the house on time or running a few “quick” errands. Things that used to feel like basic everyday tasks now feel like luxuries, like having more than five minutes to make dinner, folding and putting away the laundry, or sleeping from night until morning. Things are different when the responsibility of another human being lies on your shoulders, when someone else’s needs come before your own, when the world you once knew suddenly ceases to exist permanently.
It’s almost like there’s a timer in your head, ticking, ticking, ticking. Every time you try to get away or take a break from mothering, it taunts you. You can’t escape it. You try to take a day to yourself, to go away for a week or even just a few hours, but the ticking never stops. You can’t even leave your child with a babysitter without hearing it.
When the party starts going longer than expected, it gets louder. You watch the clock, wondering if your kids are still okay and if you can sneak out without being noticed, pushing yourself to stay cool for just 10 more minutes. Or five more minutes. Or, okay, now, you have to leave now. They probably need you. Your kids need you. You can feel the weight, pulling you back, pulling you home to them. The longer you try to get away or ignore it, the louder it gets. You look at the people around you who don’t have kids, remembering what it felt like to be them, to have the freedom to stay late after the party or to make last-minute plans.
The weight of being a mother is heavy, indeed. Some days, it feels like it’s squashing you, requiring more strength and energy than you possess. The constant and unending responsibility seems like more than you can bear. It’s a lot to carry.
But that’s the thing about lifting weights, it leads to change. The change doesn’t happen overnight; it’s not instantaneous. But slowly, over time, you begin to transform. Each day you get a little stronger, until one day, you wake up and realize you hardly feel the weight at all. The weight has become easier to carry. It becomes second nature, a part of who you are. You carry it with you without even noticing it’s there. You have transformed into a stronger, more capable, more selfless version of yourself without even noticing.
Motherhood is so heavy, but you’re strong enough to carry it.
Thursday, August 18, 2016
This Season
I have been feeling under the weather for the past entire week. Sick and dead tired, it was a struggle to accomplish anything. I am just so happy that I have finally bounced back to good health. It is no joke to do mommy duties (and do other chores on the side) when you are not 100%. Aside from being sick, I somewhat experienced a "mommy burnout" (if you could call it as such) as well. All I wanted to do is zone out and rest. Both my body and mind literally shut down for a whole week. And this brings me to the article below that I stumbled upon. It is a meaningful read. It is such a good reminder especially in times when I just want to turn off my 'mom' switch. I have to constantly remember that I have to enjoy this season no matter how hard or challenging it is, as it will soon just be a distant memory that I will probably long for when the kids are old.
'The Changing Seasons of Motherhood'
by: Rebecca Eanes
I remember the season when I had two tiny ones under my feet all day long, and the days were long. The nights were often even longer. It was a season filled with wild emotions, exhaustion, unbelievable joy, discovery, and what felt like a never-ending marathon of diaper changes. I was very often bleary-eyed from another night of waking with multiple children or teary-eyed from seeing my firstborn son give his brother a gentle kiss on his head while he slept.
I captured a lot of miracle moments in that season, but I also wished too many away. I used to wish they were out of diapers. I used to wish they'd just sleep through the night. I used to wish for a bit of “me time.”
There were nights when I would lie down with them until they fell asleep, and I would be entirely present in that moment, running my fingers through silky hair as I told them story after story. Those were beautiful nights.
Then, of course there were other nights when I just wanted to be done. I felt frustrated that they couldn't go to sleep on their own, and I questioned every parenting decision I'd made up to that point. Those were wasted nights. I accept grace for those nights. I am only human, after all. What felt like the season that would never end suddenly did.
I realized recently that I can no longer pick up my youngest son. He's too big. Too heavy. When did that happen? When was the last time I sat him down off my hip? My oldest son is nearly half way to adulthood now. Wasn't he just under my feet, asking me to play trains while I was trying to feed his baby brother?
If you are in a tough season, I want to offer you some encouragement today. I know it feels like she will never be potty trained or that he will never sleep through the night. I know you wonder if he will ever stop hitting or start sharing. You lie down at night weary from the day, unable to rest because you feel guilty for yelling.
You wonder if you are doing anything right. You are. You're doing just fine because you care enough to wonder. This season will pass, and while I won't tell you to enjoy every second because that is pretty ridiculous. I will advise you to be intentional about being present and capturing as many beautiful memories as you can, because in no time at all, those memories are all you will have of this season.
I'm in a brand new season now – a season of cub scout camp outs and baseball games. My big boys don't need me to get them to sleep anymore. Some nights I kiss them goodnight and go to my own bed, grab a book, and think of how relaxing and nice it is to have some time for me. Oh, but there are other nights, mama. Nights when I lie there listening to them giggle with each other in their room, and tears silently fall to my pillow because they don't need me to get them to sleep anymore. They need me just a little less than they used to. And that's okay – that means they're growing, but I would like for them to grow a bit slower.
These days, I find myself making new wishes. I wish they were back in diapers. I wish I could still rock them to sleep. I wish I could still pick them up and swing them around. So, you'd better believe that when I'm sitting at that ballgame tomorrow, I'm not going to be watching my clock and wishing for bedtime.
I'm going to be watching my children intently, trying my best to commit to memory the gangly limbs running the bases and the smile I get when they catch a glimpse of me in the stands. I'm going to be present because I know this season of motherhood won't last long enough. The next time I blink, they'll be teenagers. And they'll want my car. Heaven help me, they'll want my car. Enjoy your babies today, mamas. Whether they're teeny tiny or all grown up.
Enjoy this time with them, because it all ends one day. Except the laundry. That really does last forever.
'The Changing Seasons of Motherhood'
by: Rebecca Eanes
I remember the season when I had two tiny ones under my feet all day long, and the days were long. The nights were often even longer. It was a season filled with wild emotions, exhaustion, unbelievable joy, discovery, and what felt like a never-ending marathon of diaper changes. I was very often bleary-eyed from another night of waking with multiple children or teary-eyed from seeing my firstborn son give his brother a gentle kiss on his head while he slept.
I captured a lot of miracle moments in that season, but I also wished too many away. I used to wish they were out of diapers. I used to wish they'd just sleep through the night. I used to wish for a bit of “me time.”
There were nights when I would lie down with them until they fell asleep, and I would be entirely present in that moment, running my fingers through silky hair as I told them story after story. Those were beautiful nights.
Then, of course there were other nights when I just wanted to be done. I felt frustrated that they couldn't go to sleep on their own, and I questioned every parenting decision I'd made up to that point. Those were wasted nights. I accept grace for those nights. I am only human, after all. What felt like the season that would never end suddenly did.
I realized recently that I can no longer pick up my youngest son. He's too big. Too heavy. When did that happen? When was the last time I sat him down off my hip? My oldest son is nearly half way to adulthood now. Wasn't he just under my feet, asking me to play trains while I was trying to feed his baby brother?
If you are in a tough season, I want to offer you some encouragement today. I know it feels like she will never be potty trained or that he will never sleep through the night. I know you wonder if he will ever stop hitting or start sharing. You lie down at night weary from the day, unable to rest because you feel guilty for yelling.
You wonder if you are doing anything right. You are. You're doing just fine because you care enough to wonder. This season will pass, and while I won't tell you to enjoy every second because that is pretty ridiculous. I will advise you to be intentional about being present and capturing as many beautiful memories as you can, because in no time at all, those memories are all you will have of this season.
I'm in a brand new season now – a season of cub scout camp outs and baseball games. My big boys don't need me to get them to sleep anymore. Some nights I kiss them goodnight and go to my own bed, grab a book, and think of how relaxing and nice it is to have some time for me. Oh, but there are other nights, mama. Nights when I lie there listening to them giggle with each other in their room, and tears silently fall to my pillow because they don't need me to get them to sleep anymore. They need me just a little less than they used to. And that's okay – that means they're growing, but I would like for them to grow a bit slower.
These days, I find myself making new wishes. I wish they were back in diapers. I wish I could still rock them to sleep. I wish I could still pick them up and swing them around. So, you'd better believe that when I'm sitting at that ballgame tomorrow, I'm not going to be watching my clock and wishing for bedtime.
I'm going to be watching my children intently, trying my best to commit to memory the gangly limbs running the bases and the smile I get when they catch a glimpse of me in the stands. I'm going to be present because I know this season of motherhood won't last long enough. The next time I blink, they'll be teenagers. And they'll want my car. Heaven help me, they'll want my car. Enjoy your babies today, mamas. Whether they're teeny tiny or all grown up.
Enjoy this time with them, because it all ends one day. Except the laundry. That really does last forever.
Sunday, June 12, 2016
Enjoying the Moments
I have been reading a lot of great articles regarding parenthood, some of which have hit close to home. Since I have little time to organize and write down my thoughts, I am posting all these articles here so that I can have something to look back and remember someday.
This is timely since I have been fixing Rafa's childhood photos for his avp. Looking back, we have definitely come a long way. The saying, "The days are long, but the years are short." definitely rings true. With Rafa already at 4 years old, this article is a reminder for me to just relish each moment with him, both the good and not so good included. It has been a delight to see him grow. Both my husband and I enjoy the stage where he is now. He is smart, super talkative and inquinsitive. We can slowly see his personality forming, along with his little quirks that make him unique on his own way.
'The Precious and Fleeting Moments'
by: Tricia McCormick
Every night, I cuddle my oldest tight and rock him. The whole time, my mind is analyzing how big he's gotten, how he barely fits on my lap anymore, how he's no longer my baby, how he's become a boy. Where does the time go? I wonder. Wasn’t it just yesterday that you fit perfectly into the nook of my arms?
This is timely since I have been fixing Rafa's childhood photos for his avp. Looking back, we have definitely come a long way. The saying, "The days are long, but the years are short." definitely rings true. With Rafa already at 4 years old, this article is a reminder for me to just relish each moment with him, both the good and not so good included. It has been a delight to see him grow. Both my husband and I enjoy the stage where he is now. He is smart, super talkative and inquinsitive. We can slowly see his personality forming, along with his little quirks that make him unique on his own way.
'The Precious and Fleeting Moments'
by: Tricia McCormick
Every night, I cuddle my oldest tight and rock him. The whole time, my mind is analyzing how big he's gotten, how he barely fits on my lap anymore, how he's no longer my baby, how he's become a boy. Where does the time go? I wonder. Wasn’t it just yesterday that you fit perfectly into the nook of my arms?
Sometimes I stare at him, trying to imagine what he will look like all grown up. And every time I am surprised by the aging face of the little boy staring back at me. He’s not so little, anymore. I tell him, “You’re getting so big! Why do you have to grow? Stay my little baby forever.” And he replies, “But I have to grow, Mommy. I can’t make it stop. I just have to grow.” I know sweet boy, but I wish we could.
These moments that seem never-ending. These moments of motherhood that are frustrating and hard, where I find myself saying, “I just can’t take it!” These are the moments taken for granted.
Because these moments will end. They will not last forever. I want to cherish these moments while he is still small—small enough to need me, small enough to still want me to hold him and kiss him and take care of him. For one day, he will be all grown up, and he won’t need me anymore. And I will find myself longing to do it all over again.
There will come a day when my home will no longer be filled with the sounds of children laughing. When all of the screaming and yelling will stop. Sooner than I think, it will become all too quiet for my comfort—a silent void aching for time to rewind.
I do not know yet how it feels to have them grow up, head off to college, or get married and start families of their own. But I can tell you, I have thought about this, and I both look forward to and dread this moment in life more than anything.
For now, I will sit and soak up these precious and fleeting moments. Because time is a fickle friend. And soon I will be left with nothing more than my memories.
Tired Fulfilled Mom
With two kids under the age of four, this article resonates so much to me.
'THIS IS WHY MOMS ARE SO DAMN TIRED'
by: Mommyhood
Do you know what I mean by on? It means my senses never rest. My brain never stops from the moment my eyes open until the moment they shut. I’m answering questions, calming arguments, explaining, listening, talking.
My sensory receptors don’t get a chance to chill out even for a second. My ears are always listening, my eyes are always watching, my mind is always processing.
There are stimuli around me always.
'THIS IS WHY MOMS ARE SO DAMN TIRED'
by: Mommyhood
It was about 7:30 in the evening, close to bedtime for all, when my daughter grabbed a can of playdough and asked me to help her make a dinosaur. “Not tonight,” I replied. “Mommy has met her quota of building and playing for the day. Let’s do it tomorrow.” It wasn’t that I had a particularly active day. I certainly didn’t do anything too strenuous or taxing on my body. I just did the things I normally do on any given day: make breakfasts, lunches, pick up toys, do a load of laundry, color, read, play and well, mother. Nothing too difficult, right?
But I feel this way every night at about the same time.
Every night by the time the sun starts to set I hit my limit and yesterday I realized why: I am always on.
But I feel this way every night at about the same time.
Every night by the time the sun starts to set I hit my limit and yesterday I realized why: I am always on.
My sensory receptors don’t get a chance to chill out even for a second. My ears are always listening, my eyes are always watching, my mind is always processing.
There are stimuli around me always.
I know there are plenty of other jobs that demand this sort of vigilance every minute. But when you mother around the clock, the only minute of quiet you might get each day is the few minutes between the time they fall asleep and your eyes shut. Even then we tend to sleep with one eye open, listening for middle of the night cries and wake ups to use the potty. It is rare that I go more than two nights in a row without one of them waking me up.
And I’m not complaining – I adore them and there is no other job in the world I’d rather do – I’m just explaining. I’m telling you why moms are so damn tired everyday, even though it appears we’ve done nothing extraordinary with our day.
This is why you need a break.
This is why you need a break.
Moms, this is the reason why you need to say yes to a Saturday afternoon babysitter or a sleepover at Grandma’s house. Your body and soul needs to be able to stop mothering every once in a while.
Yes, you’ll think of your kids while they’re gone and probably worry about them, but you won’t have to keep your ears open to baby cries or hover over someone as they attempt to pour their own juice. You can sit in the quiet for longer than 15 minutes.
I’ve come to realize I can be a better mother when I get a break from being one. And that’s OK. It’s necessary to understand these things about yourself. To know your limits and how to refill your cup because no one else will do it for you. (My friend Rachel has another great take on why moms are so tired.)
So dads and husbands, if you’ve ever wondered how your wife could fall asleep on the couch every night at 8:45, this is why.
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