We are on vacation.
Hashtag: life; reality; parenting; humor
No rest for the wicked…
Oh, wait. I mean the mommies (smile and wink).
Greetings from La Jolla sunny California!
I am pretty sure I just ate candy my son gave me from his grubby fingers—and I am not sure the last time he washed his hands. Or went to the bathroom and forgot to wash his hands. I am actually gagging a little bit right now. Really. My stomach is not feeling so well. Hashtag “truemom”. EATING NASTY GERMS FROM GRUBBY DIRTY FINGERS. Sigh.
Therefore, let’s just say that I am VERY VERY VERY happy to be celebrating the upcoming day about ME in Poland. Dzien Matki. May 26th. Mother’s Day.
In Poland, Mother’s Day is the same day year after year after year. Kind-of like Women’s Day, Wigilia, your birthday, your anniversary, New Year’s … MOTHER’S DAY! It is set in stone and NEVER GOES AWAY!
Kind of like our kids, eh????!!!! (smile and wink)
Anyhow, this upcoming Mother’s Day I think that I am going to set expectations for my kids:
And number 10 makes up for 1-9.
As I expect it should.
So, you see, Mother’s Day in Poland is really no different than Mother’s Day anywhere else in the world. If you come from a dirt floor or a mansion that touches the sky, being MOM is full of a million and one expectations that always start with DISASTER…But that one moment (#10) will make up for all of the tornadoes that will come in and hijack your day.
In the end, however, you don’t mind. Because it’s a nice feeling. Being mom.
But NOT eating the grubby food from their fingers. Leave that behind on Dzien Matki. I am pretty sure that is not a nice feeling.
Not at all.
Happy Mother’s Day from Poland to YOU!
Okay, we have had a lot of laughs on this particular blog site about eyebrows. I, alone, am a living, walking, talking, breathing eyebrow failure of a woman. BUT TODAY…today it was all about a lesson my son was teaching my youngest daughter. And, I am willing to bet, it’s a lesson that YOU, AS WELL, didn’t even know 😉
Maxwell (age 4), sitting at our lovely farmhouse renovated table, messy hair, and slightly hoarse morning voice, eating the “talking” cereal with his little sister, GoGo Bean (aka Josephine Diane), looked excitedly at her and proclaimed, “JOSEPHINE!!!!! You’re growing EYEBROWS! Soon you’re going to turn into a MAN!”
And as excited as he was for Josephine to turn into a man, this newfound knowledge did not sit as well with his 3-year-old sister who then proceed to cry, “I DON’T WANT EYEBROWS!”
Entertainment abounds, my friends…
Even in the art of eyebrows!
Okay, seriously…Like I may be 41—but in my mind I am still some smoking hot babe…41 in wisdom, 25 in beauty and 18 in youth!
And then I go to my mirror…and I’m like 41??? 51???? WHO IS THIS WOMAN?!
Reality registers. Oh, yes. It’s me. Brooke Heidi. I know me. I have been me for a whole lotta years now.
Then I go into the other room and fresh out of the shower comes some man. He has a lot of wisdom in his hair—which, in my wife-y opinion, makes him even WAY WAY WAY hotter!
And then he is dressed to the 9. LIKE HIS STYLE IS SO AWESOME. And he is just like, “Who me? Oh, I just got out of the shower. No big deal.”
It’s like a magazine cover walked into my home and here I sit—FEELING 18, THINKING 25 Hot Babe, and LOOKING like the extinct dinosaur.
How is it, Women?
Does anyone else out there have that husband problem—or is it just me?
Now some of you may say, “But, Brooke, you haven’t changed at all.”
STOP RIGHT THERE!
I’m not sure I take that as a compliment anymore.
Have I always been this frumpy? This messy? This wildly out of control?
Has this always been me?
Have I been blind sighted by my own wild imagination?
HAS MY MIRROR BEEN LYING TO ME ALL OF THESE YEARS???
So with those words, I shrug them off and say…
It’s all my husband’s fault.
Isn’t that the mantra of marriage anyway????
(Smile, smile…wink, wink!)
With that humor, I’ll sign off and say HAVE A GREAT DAY!
The true half of crazy (B)
Several years ago, I was sitting in a meeting of International Women. I was seated next to a beautiful Danish woman. She had 2 children. I had 1. One 4-year-old daughter.
We bonded over that mere fact.
And, as we were virtually strangers, yet with something HUGE in common, we had a lot to talk about.
Okay—we had parenting and mom-ming and kids to talk about.
But it was one of the deepest conversations of my life.
We looked at each other and both of, respectively, said, “We are so thankful that we don’t beat our children.”
It’s as if we were leaning over to give one another high fives for keeping our children alive.
We spoke on HOW difficult parenting is. How hard it is to practice restraint. How MUCH you want to, well, basically, put your child in a VERY big box and shut the lid.
It was so refreshing to have an honest parenting conversation with another mom. A mom that looked like she had EVERYTHING together.
Because parenting is HARD HARD HARD.
IT, your beautiful baby, your precocious toddler—turns FOUR…FOUR!
And you think…have I spawned the devil?
And these precious creatures we have spawned literally live to drive us bat crazy. You feel as if you have no shred of self control left. You literally have to physically leave the presence of your spawn.
Parenting is hard. And I get so ridiculously crazy of these soft-spoken moms that are like “Blah, blah, blah…the beauty of parenting…AND MAKING BUTTER..” because I am all like…MY KID LIVED TODAY!!!!!
And I feel as if I should run outside and SHOUT IT ON THE ROOFTOPS!
And I feel as if they should literally make a MADE FOR TV movie about my heroism.
This woman. This stranger. She got all of that. We talked for a long time about how people really should praise mommies for maintaining control. We talked about parents that struggled with doing what’s right. We talked about how much help we need as parents.
We need help. The good parents. The bad parents. THE PARENTS. We need help.
Because our job is the biggest in the world. And it’s the hardest in the world. And we have little little little people that trust us for safety and protection and life—as they should—even while they are trying to snuff that VERY life out of us.
Right now I am raising my second 4-year-old. I say second, because my daughter was my first and she is now 10.
And she is the FINEST decade gal you will ever meet (decade gal is what she calls her 10-year-old self).
She is funny and kind. She is smart and hardworking. She is silly and fun. She is outgoing yet shy. SHE IS THE BEST!
I couldn’t ask for a more amazing child.
Yet when she was four—I thought she was the she-devil herself. And I could hardly see straight because she drove me so insane.
And I PRAYED that we would BOTH live through that phase. That phase of her being 4.
Stubborn. Screaming. CRYING…PUBLIC HUMILATION. Up the wazoo.
I felt ashamed every time I walked in public with her because of her meltdowns and fits and tantrums.
I wanted to return this child I prayed so hard to receive.
And I thought I would never make it past this phase of being the WORST MOMMY EVER!
Yet here she sits at 10 as the BEST version of any kid I could imagine building on my own. Like, literally, if I could design a child, this child would still not come out as great as my decade gal.
And so I have chosen to write this post today for me. For you. For every HONEST mom out there that is pulling her hair, just trying to survive.
I write this for the solidarity of US!
We do deserve high fives. We do deserve made for TV movies. We deserve honor and recognition that our children are alive despite the fact that we are now bald.
You are doing a fine job. Maybe some days you want to cry because you feel like you are the worst. But take a deep breath. Go in the other room. Cry. And then breathe again. Because your 4-year-old will not be a 4-year-old forever.
One day your 4-year-old will turn into your decade gal…and you will be able to look at your child and see that you have made it. You have survived. And you are doing a darn fine job of it.
Drink a coffee…Eat dessert. And breathe.
Because the teenage years are just around the corner.
Saw this on Instagram this morning…I nearly died laughing. Because. Well, just because this is not my #truth when it comes to my infamous eyebrow and s. First of all, I don’t get in shape. Second—not even my eyebrows are there!
Last—I actually never knew the internet was FULL of all sorts of quotes about EYEBROWS!
I mean…I thought it was just my blog that ranted about these top hovers. But, no. I was rolling. And so I found a few fun quotes and a few blog reminders so we all may enjoy!
Here we go…a few fun internet finds and how I tend to blend right in to this craze.
Jack Black has something to say about eyebrows, and I learned this one the hard way…When I didn’t have one: Vanity Will Get You One Eyebrow—Less
Next..I never knew how important they were until I went to make a statement about my marriage: Marital Unbliss and Lack of Sleep Had a Devastating Effect on My Eyebrows
I guess this last one is especially humorous to me since I write a blog…Haha! Enjoy the quote and the blog: Do You Want To Wax Your Mustache?
I pulled out a journal that my mom sent me for my 40th birthday the other day. There is so much for me to write and see and say, and I wanted to begin to record.
But pulling out my journal brought me back to the last several years of my life and marriage.
If you have followed this blog since its inception 3 years ago, you would know that my husband and I have had to work really hard at our marriage.
One point, while we were receiving professional help, my husband was journaling. It was a good thing. Yet is was a VERY depressing thing.
While it was both cathartic and healing—it was just SO SAD!
And every time I read it, it was hard to read.
Hard times in life are hard. And we need to share them with someone we trust—but that doesn’t make it easy.
So when I pulled out my journal…during a hard day of just being me, being mommy, being wife, I decided to do something different.
I decided that I was going to write about the joys of my day. And while my children sat screaming and crying and throwing fits, I remembered that ONE moment of the day where they were pure joy—
And I wrote that.
And I giggled while I wrote.
And I shared with my husband what I wrote.
And we smiled.
Through the tears, through the difficulties, through the hard—we smiled…because, really, there was something to smile about.
Take for example, my family photo above. My 2-year-old delight (sarcasm inserted here) cried and pouted and shouted throughout our entire photo session. She was tired. She was sleeping. And she is two. TWO. That, in itself, is an answer for everything 😉
She did not want to smile for any photo. It was impossible. And as much as we tried, we just could not get that ideal and dreamy family photo that I had envisioned on the drive to the palace gardens where we were taking photos.
So we had to come to the conclusion to either leave her out of photos or just go with the flow.
And we did both.
When she wasn’t in the photos, we clicked magnificence.
When she was, we just had so much fun with her two year old pouty expressions…capturing not perfection but real life.
At the end of the day, when the gardens were about to be locked up, we wandered to the exit and just let the children run and play. After all, they could get dirty now that mom had what she wanted. That is when the sun actually came out.
No, dusk was on the horizon, but our 2-year-old Josephine ran and played and laughed and smiled.
And that is when my husband took back out the camera that he had already packed away and started to shoot.
And that’s when we saw her smile.
You know…It’s good to record life. The ups and downs and all arounds.
But sometimes we especially need to record the joys—because they remind us to smile!