003/365

I sat around my living room this afternoon with a bunch of eight babies and their mothers (plus one in the womb). As I regarded us mothering so naturally amidst the mayhem-- wiping noses and bums, cleaning up spills, managing meltdowns, feeding and soothing infants-- I had a hard time picturing myself and these same women as the girls who used to dance drunkenly on top of bars.

When I consider the particular season of life I shared with these women-- the shenanigans we willingly put ourselves through, the spontaneity our days and nights were full of, and the plethora of poor decisions we repeatedly made-- the reality that we are all doting mothers remains a real mind fuck.

 

It's not that I never pictured us being mothers at some point because I'm sure I could for some of us. A few had serious boyfriends and conversations of the future tended to happen after a few too many glasses of the cheapest wine we could afford. However, because I wasn't one of those friends who mentioned kids during our drunken conversations, I certainly never pictured sitting on creaky hardwood floors, arms full of baby and toddler, (still) drinking cheap white wine, and deciding that I like this version of me and my friends a whole lot more than the girls we once were. 

A lot of the time, I still feel like that twenty-one year old girl who has absolutely nothing figured out, the girl who tries and fails to keep her head above the water, only hoping by the grace of God that someone is there to throw her a line. In college, those girls I danced on bars with were that line to shore.

 

Today, as I sat on my floor surrounded by those same girls who are now, a decade later, wives and mothers and, yet, just as much fun, I realized that they are still that same lifeline.

The only difference is now, we're the ones getting thrown up on. 

002/365

It's on days like today I find it baffling how two tiny humans can be so unbelievably exhausting and the work of raising them can feel at times so grueling, unmanageable, and exasperating. 

These aren't the days I want to look back on and remember with blinding clarity-- I hope the rough days blend seamlessly into the landscape of my experience as a mother, along with potty training, postpartum depression, and Marlo's terrible two's. And three's. 

And, yet, I desperately want to remember days like today and just how much they teach me about not only being a good mother, but also about being a decent person. No one will ever test your patience like a stubborn three year old who asks the same question forty-seven times AFTER you've already given her an answer forty-six times. No one will ever throw your lack of patience in your face more forcefully like that same stubborn three year old. 

So, while I don't particularly appreciate the raging tantrums over not going to Target for the third time this week or because she found a dry marshmallow in her bowl of marshmallows (today was also chock-full of all-else-has-failed-bribes) or because Edie blinked too many times or because she simply had a quota to fill for the week, I must acknowledge how much these kinds of days push me to be better and to do better and to try harder.  

001/365

I don't write a lot about my marriage-- at least not publicly. It has a little to do with wanting to keep some things private, a little to do with not wanting to put my foot in my mouth, and a lot to do with not sounding like an asshole. When one makes a big show of professing their love for someone, it's easy to sound more like an over-compensating asshole rather than a dedicated partner. But today is our fourth wedding anniversary and I want to say a few things about a few things.

 

Our relationship began almost ten years ago. We were naive college students who had fairly jaded perspectives on relationships and family. Our road was quite bumpy. Poor and careless decisions were made far too often and there were a lot of hurt feelings. It took work- and a lot of growing up- to realize that the best relationships aren't based on a universal idea of perfection; rather, they consist of two flawed people who neither expect nor want perfection from the other.

 

The best relationships are more like partnerships with frequent consensual groping. The best relationships don't require agreement on everything and instead respect difference of opinion. The best relationships are the ones where both people never give up on the good in the other but also maintain a level of take-no-shit-self-respect. The best relationships consist of two people who ask themselves regularly-- if not daily-- how they can make the person they love feel loved.

 

And just like my general motto in life, it would appear that not being an asshole is probably the best way to go about staying married. Well, that is if staying married is important to you. It is to me.

 

Then again, I'm married to McDreamy. So...    

 

 

 

 

 

because anne lamott said so

Hi! And welcome to my fresh little corner of the endless virtual realm!

Long story short, I decided to retire The C-Word. Originally, I wrote some long-winded explanation about why but then realized that it was actually very simple. This new space was created for the same reason I began writing: BOREDOM. I was bored with that space and wanted a clean slate. This blog will be a lot of the same-- a lot of words, more photography not taken on my iPhone, less blog-ish stuff.   

Bad things can happen when one is bored, the majority of my teenage years being evidence. In this particular case, boredom not only led me to write years and years ago, but it gave me the power to express and own parts of my life that I seldom spoke of, even to those I was closest to. It allowed me to use a voice (and, as some would later flatter me, a talent) I didn't know I possessed to connect with others who wrongly assumed that they, too, were alone in the trenches.

So I kept writing. And I will keep writing. Because it feels natural to do so. Because a few people continue to read it. Because it helps me make sense of every area of my life. Because writing more makes you write better. Because I have things to say in a way that no one else has said it. Because I am set in my ways and refuse to pick up any other hobbies. Because I'm fairly good at it. 

Mainly, though, it's because I don't know how not to. 

My 29th birthday is tomorrow and to challenge myself a bit for the next year, I've decided to assign myself a little project: I will write every single day for the next 365 days. 

"write what you know. and write every day." - anne lamott (bird by bird)

And so I will.