sisterhood Archives - Baton Rouge Moms

Revisiting Mom Goals

February 7, 2015 by Taresa Sneed

The new year rang in a month ago (already!), thankfully, February offers us the chance to re-assess and get back on the right track. Over the past few years I’ve made many resolutions (weight loss, eating healthy, spending less, saving more you get it) that would last until mid January before I was saying screw it. This year I decided to focus on how I could be a better mom. That’s my most important role, and it’s what’s brought me the most joy the past two years. Here are a few of my goals along with why I chose them.

Revisiting Mom Goals

Being more patient- Let’s face it, it’s hard to be patient with toddlers sometimes! As a mom of a 2 year old, I sometimes have to take a deep breath and repeat “he’s only 2, he’s only 2” a million times when my son is having a tantrum, telling me NO!, spilling juice, or emptying flour all over the kitchen floor. I have to remind myself that he’s doing these things because it’s what 2 year olds do and that one day these things will stop and as crazy as it sounds, I’ll miss them.

Not Being Perfect- I drive myself (and my fiancé) crazy with trying to have everything so perfect. I wear myself out making sure the laundry is done, the sink has no dishes in it before we go to bed, all the trains are picked up from the living room floor, and so on. A lot of the time I miss out on precious moments with my son because of this feeling that everything has to be perfect and in order. So I’m learning that it’s ok every once in a while when Landen wants me to get down on the floor and play with his trains, but the top to the laundry basket won’t stay on because it’s so full, or if he wants me to come outside with him and daddy but it’s 6:30 and dinner isn’t on the stove yet. There’s nothing wrong with eating dinner a little late, and the laundry basket won’t collapse just because it’s full.

More time with Jesus- I’m writing about this last because it ties everything together and because I’m thinking of something that was said in church the Last Sunday of 2014. We can make a ton of goals and resolutions, and keep every one of them. But if spending time with The Lord, building a relationship with him, and getting closer to him isn’t one of those goals, you won’t be truly happy and you won’t find peace. For my family, I want true happiness and true peace. The kind that doesn’t come from having the perfect house, or the perfect child, but the kind that comes from knowing the one who does. 😉

Chicken Nugget Boob Syndrome

September 20, 2014 by Rachele Ezzo

So my cute little 3 year old son was saying the funniest things the other day. I was explaining to him he had a cold. To which he replied he was warm. Then I told him his nose was running, and he replied “No, it’s walking.”

Cute right? Not always.

He is too smart for his own good sometimes and much too observant. That same morning I was getting out of the shower as he ran into the bathroom holding his crotch announcing he had to go potty. “Ok, go right here on mommy’s potty.”

Well, as all boys do he proceeded to drop his “manly load” in the toilet and needed to be wiped. So there I am …naked, standing over him, wiping his bottom. Big mistake.

What he did next is really a knee slapper. He reached up with his cute little fingers, grabbed a hold of my non-existent boob, yet overly present nipple and held on to that thing and asked, “Mommy, is this a chicken nugget?”

Ummm………………….

Let’s just say after breastfeeding two kids it looks like a vacuum sucker was placed to my boob, like you would a vacuum tight freezer bag. The life was sucked out of that thing and it shrunk to puberty boy proportions. Also, as a bonus my nipples are at attention 24-7 as if they are getting ready to parachute off my body in Alaskan air.

I have larger chested friends and when my boys grab ahold of their chest in curiosity, we don’t even apologize but use that as a learning experience. “Mommy lost hers, but ____________________did not.”

Chicken nugget boob syndrome. The struggle is real.

Baton Rouge has grown on me, but it took some time

June 28, 2014 by Tiffany

They say home is where your heart is. In February of 2006 I left Virginia, the place I’d called home for 13 years. Virginia is where I went to school, made friends, knew everyone and their business. I grew up in a very small town where everyone knew you and you knew them. You knew their mother, father, brothers, sisters, aunts, and uncles. When I left my home in Virginia, I left my heart there.

Moving from what was familiar to me was really a challenge, and I almost gave up a few times. After getting married and a job relocation, we ended up in Louisiana.

I didn’t give Louisiana a fair chance. I didn’t want to. I wanted to be back in Virginia with my friends and family. I missed the familiar sights, the weather, and everything there was to do there. I went back to Virginia every chance I could during our first year of marriage. I even went so far as to drive back to Virginia and apply for my old job, which I got but eventually turned down to stay with Sean in Louisiana.

Then, I was pregnant and we bought a house. We were pregnant again with Sean in December of 2010. I was laying down roots in a place I hated, but didn’t really have any reason to dislike. Sean and I would talk about moving back. He was hesitant and I could understand why. Sean makes a pretty good income and he just wanted to start enjoying life, not continue moving. Looking back, I feel awful for what I put my poor husband through. The truth is, for five or six years after we moved to Louisiana, I kept my heart in Virginia.

After one more trip back to Virginia with the kids during the summer of 2013, I finally realized what I was doing by leaving my heart in Virginia, when what I really needed to do was make my home in Louisiana. On my drive back home this time, I realized that I had missed Louisiana – the swamps, the beautiful sunsets and, of course, the food. When I hit Louisiana with the kids, I knew it wasn’t the physical place I missed about Virginia, it was the community, and the love I felt for the people there.

Coincidentally, it was shortly after a summer in Virginia that Tiany e-mailed me and asked if I’d like to help her launch BatonRougeMoms.com. I jumped at the chance! Then, I met Maggie of MyBatonRougeMommy.com. Maggie and Tiany are the sweetest. Maggie was born and raised right here in Louisiana and she loves her state. Tiany moved to Louisiana and she even said it took some time for her to like it here, but now she loves it and enjoys the community, especially other moms. Between Tiany and Maggie, I knew I had found a great group of friends who would support me and help me to realize just how amazing Louisiana is and what it has to offer.

Joining BatonRougeMoms.com and making an effort to contact other moms to set up play-dates and girl’s nights out has made life so much more enjoyable. I realized that making friends and having “sisters” to lean on is just what I needed. Truly, home is where the heart is. For me, that means that wherever you have love, you’ll have a home.

If you’re new to the area, don’t hide out as long as I did. Make the first step. Reach out to other moms in your area, put yourself out there, mingle, don’t be afraid to speak up. Go on adventures with your family. Louisiana is a beautiful state, rich in tradition and southern hospitality. Don’t miss out for as long as I did!

The Life Of A Tired Mom.

June 21, 2014 by Harmony

Do you like coffee? Man … I love it. I love the smell, the warmth, the energy it gives me. Nothing says “I love you” like my husband bringing me a cup of coffee in the morning. I have read The 5 Love Languages and I came away from it fairly certain that caffeine is my love language.

I never thought I’d find myself too tired to make coffee, but one morning this week I really was. At 6:30 a.m. I was staring at the ceiling trying to muster up the will to stand. I ended up flinging my arm onto my husband’s stomach until he made a sound that was a cross between a waking-up grunt and a cry of pain, and when I was certain he was fully awake I asked him to make me a cup.

Actually, I said “I feel like I’m glued to the bed,” and a few minutes later while HE was staring at the ceiling trying to muster up the will to stand, he said “I feel like I’m glued to the bed,” and then I got mad at him because I REALLY DID FEEL GLUED DOWN and he totally stole my line.

We really make quite the pair.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my tiredness level because it occurred to me that I’m the fun-killer in our house. I’m worn out, you see, and everywhere I turn there is another mountain of laundry or another mess. This is to be expected in a family of five, I know. But just ONCE, I’d like to be the one whooping it up with the kids, while Robbie nags us about the noise level or the mess. Just once, I’d like to not be the one who has to remember important appointments, make to-do lists or worry about what the kids will eat for dinner.

I’d like for someone else to be the one who says, “The baby needs a bib,” “You’re too close to the electric fireplace,” or, “I’m going to fold laundry.”

I want to take a break from reminding my husband to dry his hands on the kitchen towel instead of using paper towels, because when we run out of those I will ultimately be the one who has to buy more … with three kids in tow.

Somewhere along the way, I became this exhausted annihilator of glee that I don’t even recognize. Childbearing and home managing has done something to me — something wrinkly. It’s not fair because deep down I’m a fun person! I am! Really! I simply get tired of being responsible. I get tired of feeding people. Sometimes — shhh, don’t tell — I even get tired of showering. I think it’s because I am responsible for bathing three other people in addition to myself, and then my husband comes home and makes a joke about me giving him a sponge bath, and wonders why I don’t laugh at his jokes anymore. IT’S BECAUSE THAT IS SO NOT FUNNY.

This is the not-fun part of motherhood — the tiredness.

On Father’s Day, I tried to rally because it was my husband’s special day, but all I wanted to do was take a nap. That evening, I got down on my hands and knees to clean up a spill under our kitchen table … and I seriously considered lying face down, right there on the kitchen floor. How long would it take them to find me? As I considered this, the baby came crawling over with an ecstatic look on her face.

“MAMA!“ she said, so happy to have made the discovery of her mother, who was now lying face-down on the kitchen floor. I made a conscious decision not to think about the water I still hadn’t sopped up, or the dirty dishes still sitting on the table above us. I allowed myself to be still for a few moments and ignore all the things that were still undone, and I took the time to look at my daughter. Really, truly, look at her.

Sometimes I feel like I go long periods of time without really seeing my family — taking the time to study them, relish them. I’m always too busy killing fun or wandering around in a zombie-like state, and they’re always moving so fast … a blur of arms and legs, never sitting still long enough for me to see them clearly. So I looked at her closely, soaking in her delight, listening to her babble and watching her smack the tile floor with her hands.

God, I was tired.

But I wasn’t tired because I’d been out all night with my friends. I wasn’t tired because I’d been studying for an exam, or working late at an office job I hated. I was tired because when you have a house full of people, they leave a lot of crumbs on the floor. There are a lot of fingernails to clip. You’re needed a lot more. And you are loved so much that all they want to do is hug you, touch you, and soak you up. Taking the time to consider the source of my tiredness helped me to see that I’m actually more blessed than exhausted.

And so I got my butt up, because that’s what mothers do when they would rather lie flat on the floor, but instead of returning to cleaning the kitchen I picked up the baby and went to see that the rest of my family was doing.

They were wrestling. It looked dangerous, but they were all laughing.

And this time, I didn’t say a word.

Fill The Valley — Get A Life!

May 17, 2014 by Harmony

Recently I was going through my pajama drawer and found a pair of tiny women’s boxer shorts – the kind 18-year-olds buy from American Eagle – that I haven’t put on my body in years. I’ve lost a little weight so I thought I would try them on, and amazingly they fit! I think you’re probably all familiar with the dance that ensues when something actually FITS. I was so excited.

I strutted into the living room and waited for my husband to look up. He didn’t. I cleared my throat. He glanced, and then wordlessly went back to what he was doing. Not one to be ignored, I spoke up.

Me: “HEY MAN. Look at my shorts.”

Husband: (silent)

Me: “I haven’t been able to wear these in years!”

Husband: (still silent)

Me: “I can’t believe you aren’t saying anything! Hello … ”

Husband: “OH! I thought those were my boxers.”

He is 6’3 and has a good 50+ pounds on me. I was so annoyed that he thought the boxers were his, I asked him to try them on just so he could see how ridiculous that was. And now the poor man is never going to hear the end of it.

I am very lucky to be married to a great guy. He would do anything to make me happy, truly. We love each other and we have a great life, but recently I realized we were in some kind of rut. After thinking about it for awhile, I determined that we were taking each other for granted. I felt like he saw right through me (and to be fair, I was seeing right past him, too) but I also realized it was probably because I never had anything interesting or new to say AND we are both beyond exhausted.

Caring for our small children brings me so much happiness, and my husband loves hearing about my day, but I don’t want to talk about my kids all the time. I’m sorry, but that’s boring. Occasionally I hear myself talking about how many poop diapers I changed in a 12-hour period and I realize that I AM ACTUALLY BORING MYSELF RIGHT NOW. But do I stop talking? Nope. So, while I knew I couldn’t do much to make our life less tiring, surely something could be done to make my part of it more interesting.

Now here is where I make sure that you understand where I’m coming from, lest you think I am unappreciative of my life situation, or that my husband is a terrible person. Neither of those things are true. I’m just being real. My kids are amazing. I am thankful to be home with them full-time, but with that comes a unique type of exhaustion that I can’t really explain. If you’ve been there, you know what I mean. It truly feels like their cries are melting my brain, which is exasperating because I have an education and I have original thoughts. But for some reason, when I encounter another adult, my melted brain doesn’t allow me to conversate intelligently.

I had someone tell me once, when I was still working outside of the home, “stay-at-home moms are … well … they’re kind of dumb.” And I guess the look of horror on my face (because I was secretly aspiring to become one) led her to say, “Have you ever been stuck with one at a party?! Oh my GAWD. They’re dumb as door nails. Just trust me.”

I thought that was an awful thing to say. And now nearly 4 years later, I WAS THAT DUMB PERSON. For the first time since I became a stay-at-home mom, I truly felt like I could put myself to sleep with my own company. And so, I sought the advice of a mom of 4 who has an MBA and used to hold a very prestigious position in the work force before she quit to take care of her babies.

It is INVALUABLE to be able to talk to other moms who are more experienced than you, and get their advice or encouragement. It’s absolutely more helpful than any self-help book out there, and I know this because I have a shelf full of them. I am lucky to be a part of a network of moms who are at a similar place in their motherhood journey and while it is awesome to have people to talk to who GET IT, it’s also a bit like the blind leading the blind. So, I really needed this woman’s help.

She called the place we are in a “valley,” which will end eventually, but until that happens I need to fill it up so I don’t lose my ever-loving mind. She encouraged me to create a life for myself, outside of caring for the kids and my husband. It’s not easy to make that happen, especially when time and money are in short supply, but I knew she was right. As mothers we live a life of service, and it’s a blessing, it really is. But the world we live in is isolating, and not many of us live on the same street as our moms, sisters, and aunts. While being a mom fills my soul, I know that it does not complete me as a person. It is only one part of who I am; a big part, yes, but not the whole.

And it is okay to admit that.

I encourage us all to support each other in our journey through this muddled mess called motherhood. I honestly wish more women who have made it through the valley of raising tiny children could or would take the time to shepherd the rest of us through it. Times are different now; mothering through a valley is a daunting task and most women do not have the support they need. Not enough people are okay with embracing simplicity. Not enough people are honest.

So back to her advice for me to get a life, I looked around my house that I work so hard to keep in order. I looked at my children with clean faces. I looked at the stacks of folded laundry. And then I decided it’s time for me to get a life outside of these walls, let the dust bunnies breed and the ketchupy fingerprints stay on the wall. Life is short, and there is a time to devote all of yourself to your children and a time to devote some of your energy to your other interests before you disappear into a black hole of boring nothingness … which is where I was headed.

I can’t give you an ending to this story yet, because after I announced to my husband I was about to “GET A LIFE TO FILL THE VALLEY!” (which was answered with one of his silent stares), I set about throwing a lot of balls into the air. I figure even if they rain down on me, I’ll still have something new to talk about. Which I’m sure you’ll appreciate, should we ever stand next to each other at a party.

We All Need A Sister (or 10).

November 2, 2013 by Harmony

Sis·ter·hood
(noun)
1. the relationship between sisters.
the feeling of kinship with and closeness to a group of women or all women.
2. an association, society, or community of women linked by a common interest, religion, or trade.

I don’t have any sisters. I’ve always wished I did, and I admittedly romanticize the idea. Someone to walk arm-in-arm through life with, sharing clothes and inside jokes, cooking Thanksgiving dinners together while nieces and nephews run underfoot … I imagine it all to be very Pottery Barn-like. (My imaginary sister and I are also fabulous and thin, of course. Like a U.S. version of Pippa and Kate Middleton.)

Women need sisterhood. Since I lack a real sister, my girlfriends fill that void. I can almost see the relief wash over my husband’s face when I find a friend to vent to so he doesn’t have to listen to how that lady at the gym looked me up and down again. What’s her problem? Is it me? Am I breaking some kind of gym etiquette rule without realizing it?!

He doesn’t want to dissect the situation to figure it out, because he does not care. He doesn’t enjoy DISCUSSION. Sisters specialize in DISCUSSION. They also listen and don’t judge when you say things like, “I think I married a terrible man because he refuses to discuss the gym lady with me. Doesn’t he LOVE me?”

Last week was hard. No one slept. My 2-year-old found a bottle of Children’s Motrin and chugged it down, resulting in a call to Poison Control. I found out the hard way that our kindergartener doesn’t know how to undo his belt — and so every day we’ve sent him to school with a belt on, he hasn’t used the bathroom for the entire day. This has been going on for almost three months, and I just now realized it.

My husband and I were exhausted and arguing. I started thinking irrational thoughts. My kids were being bratty, so clearly I was a failure. I felt overwhelmed by laundry, cooking, and life, and to top it all off, I was breaking out along my hairline. Before I went completely over the edge, I reached out to some sisters and we discussed all of it in detail … and all of the sudden I could think clearly again. I announced to my husband that I needed a break – I was going to Target, and would not be back for a really long time. “Good,” he said.

I had no makeup on and I pulled my hat down low, but the sister behind the Starbucks counter immediately recognized me. “No babies?!” she asked. “No,” I said, “Not today.” I went on to tell her that I had run away from my family because I think they are plotting to kill me via sleep deprivation and I intended to walk up and down every single aisle in Target, slowly, with my coffee, until I was ready to face them again. We chatted for a few more minutes while she made my drink, and then she did something that probably seemed so small to her, but in my exhausted, frayed state, it moved me to tears.

“Here you go,” she said, handing me my latte. “It’s on the house. Enjoy your time away.”

I wanted to hug her. And I totally would have, but she was behind a counter.

THAT, my friends, is sisterhood: women looking out for other women. You don’t have to know someone to be sisterly … you just have to reach out and remind them that we are all in this together. And a very large cup of coffee doesn’t hurt, either.

Learning To Look Up. – Motherhood in the Trenches

October 26, 2013 by Harmony

I have three children ages 5 and under, I’m fast-approaching my mid-30’s, and I am unable to fit into anything in my lingerie drawer. I know, I know — first world problems. But hear me out. We just met, and you still have to be polite.

When I married my husband 8 years ago, I had a stockpile of pretty things that would snap his head up from whatever he was looking at. After my first child, I managed to stuff myself back into them, like literally stuff my flesh in, much like you would stuff a turkey. After the second kid, no chance. And now, after my third … well … now I have my dignity. But no pretty bras.

I love being a mom, but I also love being a woman. With each child I’ve had to adjust my expectations, lower my standards and (grudgingly) speed up my morning routine. Over time, slowly but surely, I’ve started losing touch with the “woman” side of myself. This is how women who become mothers start to feel like they disappear. Depressing, right?

After my third child was born this summer, I noticed that when I was out schlepping three kids around town that I didn’t make eye contact with anyone. I was harried and focused solely on survival: keeping the children out of danger, accomplishing my tasks, and making sure we were all wearing shoes. I didn’t want to be noticed, and I certainly didn’t want to see anyone I knew. Most people focus on the kids anyway, so usually I never had to look anyone directly in the face. Which I was fine with … until I became aware of what I was doing.

That unsettled me. I’ve never been a ground-looker. And then I thought, “This is it. The third one’s done me in. I can’t even LOOK AT PEOPLE. Who have I become?! A person who wants to be invisible, that’s who. I’m wearing faded, mismatched yoga clothes, I have not done actual yoga in like a year, and I don’t want anyone to look at me because then they might notice how tired I am. Also, I had a milkshake for breakfast and I’m ashamed.”

My children can’t have a mom who looks at the ground, because then they will look at the ground, and they are amazing little people who have no business feeling invisible. When I got home and forced myself to look in the mirror to face myself – this new self, the one with three kids – I decided that I have no business feeling invisible either.

I might not fit into my regular clothes yet, and the contents of my lingerie drawer may never fit me again, but that is no reason for me to fade and shrink from view. I’ve birthed three kids and I manage to keep them all alive every day! Having a muffintop does not negate the fact that I do amazing things on a regular basis. I’ll just have to buy myself some new, larger, lingerie.

I am here to virtually look you in the eye and remind you that while motherhood may suck all of us dry at times, what our children need are mothers who know without a doubt that they absolutely rock, in all their faded yoga pant, milkshake for breakfast, boring underwear glory.

So here goes: I may be a mess … but I ROCK. And so do you.