The pumpkin patches you hope they won't miss...

Today, after dropping off the Traverse for maintenance issues we have been putting off for months, I rode with Michael back to his work and cried.

Not at first, at first I snapped and picked a fight. I passive aggressively mentioned problems "he's" caused recently, I acted completely offended that he suggest I "take it easy" even though he genuinely meant I relax,  and I then I sat there angrily scribbling in my creepy little personal notebook in silence... a sure tell sign for Michael that I'm about to lose it.

He took a deep breath "I'm not trying to fight. I don't want to fight, I just don't know what's wrong and if I don't know, I can't help.  I want to help."

TEARS. (from me, not Michael)

Ugly crying and deep gasps for air. (again... not Michael)

And everything that has been bothering me, but I'm ashamed to admit, came out in two and half minutes.  I wanted to this fall break to be perfect; 3 house projects, fun activity each day for the kids, dentist visits for all, enjoy my mom, get to soccer practices and games on time (5 total), clean the house, visit the two newest babies boys in my life, fall family photos, and on and on and on...

But, on top of ALL of this (horror of all horrors) I didn't schedule a pumpkin patch visit. End of the World? No. But from my current view of the World, threw the rose colored glasses of Facebook and Instagram; I'd failed them!

Michael paused and then spoke "We don't need to entertain our kids all the time, they are happy and loved. I never carved a pumpkin that we didn't grow on our farms. I never went to a pumpkin festival, maybe a cider mill for donuts, but all our pumpkins came from what we'd grown."

Sometimes, I hate when people point out the obvious to me and sometimes, it makes me love them even more. 

And Michael had grown pumpkins with our kids, all spring and summer they visited those pumpkins and watched them grow.  We picked those pumpkins and rolled them to our front porch.  Why hadn't I realized THIS was our tradition and this was just as important and memorable?

Fall break wasn't a bust; Grandma loved on our babies and made them homemade costumes, projects were complete, cuddles were had, everyone made it to their 6 month check ups, movies and snuggles occurred, we indulged in Casa Bonita, we made it on time(ish) to soccer practices, and  I even got to visit with friends.

It was a damn good break, but I let my high expectations of what I "should" get done and my view of other people's fun visits to the pumpkin patches cloud my vision.

Before typing this, I memory popped up on Facebook; it was the boys and me at the pumpkin patch 4 years ago... and just as I was about to say "You know what, we can make this work," I stopped myself and remembered that visit. 

The pictures are adorable, but the pumpkin photo at the top of the page.... the one with the white pumpkin, that little white pumpkin was for our future Eliza Jane. I distinctly recall that day; after spending hours in the heat with a 2.5 year old, a 1.5 year old and a 5 week old in my belly I came home and collapsed from exhaustion (and much like today) I cried. 

I cried because we'd planned too much and we were pushing ourselves too hard.
I cried, questioning whether we could handle three babies, or worse, what if I'd pushed myself too hard and risked the life of this little one???

I still have things on my to-do-list. 
I still kind of wish we could make the pumpkin festival work (it won't). 
My chest still tightens when I think that my kids didn't enjoy every second of every day of fall break.

But as Michael told me, I need to stop making "To-Do" lists and start making lists of all the things I accomplished.

Every parent wants their kids to have fond memories of their weekends, breaks, and overall childhood, but sometimes there just isn't enough time or energy to get to all the events and activities. Sometimes, life isn't picture perfect... sometimes it's just about making sure everyone is seen, heard, and loved.

This year we skipped the pumpkin patch and I genuinely hope my kids won't miss it too much. Next year we'll try again, or maybe we won't. If there is one thing I've learned today, it's that throwing out your to-do-list, building a fort in the living room with the kids, cathartically typing for 35 minutes as the kids watch toons, and accepting that what you've already accomplished is enough, is just as important as checking off every item on that list.

The night my three year old daughter helped me deescalate from a panic attack

At 4:30, we walked in the door after a busy weekend and long road trip; the car was a mess, the house dirty, the kids were exhausted, and Michael needed to run into work for several hours.

I had to clean up, put away stuff from our night away, vacuum the car, and then feed and put the kids to bed... no big deal.

But then, like so many times before, all I could see was the mess that would never be cleaned, the car I've neglected to vacuum all summer, and kids that would never listen, and all I could do was sit and try to breath deeply to take away from my chest pain. 
I couldn't start.
I couldn't pick what needed to be done first.
I was emotionally incapable of prioritizing.
There was no point of entry into the messy abyss that stood before me,
everything was torn to shit and all over the place.

No one was in ear shot to hear the silent screams inside me.
I could feel the panic and anxiety start at my chest and slowly seep into my limbs, filling my body with an overwhelming feeling of fear.

So, like any logical person in this state; I pick the best possibly thing to do when it begins to rain outside... I decide I need to clean the car.

The kids and I headed to the car wash so I could vacuum out at least two dozen McDonald's toys, a Costco size bag of Pirate Booty, 2 lbs of dirt from our travels this summer, and about 15 school art projects that had been ripped and shredded all over the floor.

As we pulled out of the car wash, my chest lightened and I felt accomplished. The industrial sized vacuum and car wash served as amusement park games and rides for the kids; I not only got something done, but entertained at the same time! I was multi-tasking.

The house was still there, though, and entering those doors put me back at ground zero.

I talked to my sister on the phone, I tried to call my mom, I posted a cute picture of my kids on social media, I cleaned out my email inbox, I went through and unsubscribed to emails, I busied my brain and myself; to avoid.  And, until Michael came home from work and the presence of another adult allowed me to see the chaos once more, I sat on my couch and avoided.

Michael didn't ask me to pick up, he didn't ask what I'd been doing, he started in on what still needed to be done and got to work.  In these times, we don't talk; partially because Michael doesn't know where I am mentally or emotionally and he doesn't want to push if I'm not ready, but also because (after 18 years together) we both know what needs to be done and if it isn't, there is usually a good reason.

And no, to those thinking "Why didn't he stop to check in with her, why didn't he find what was wrong and help her," that isn't always an option.  In a family of 5, our priorities are the 3 little ones that depend on us and if Michael sees me seemingly losing control, other than asking if I need a break (which he does often, but he had been working and driving all day too), him stepping up and doing more work, is often much more important and helpful. 

But the panic attack that had started was still looming over me.  I could feel it, sitting there, heavy, waiting

The light at the end of the tunnel felt near, Michael was going to put the boys to bed and Lizie was ready to fall asleep, but then, Michael leaned over the railing on our stairs and randomly asked me a perfectly harmless question that sent me spinning.  No, I didn't scream or cry, I didn't lash out or react, rather I perseverated on this (again perfectly harmless) question. I'd almost made it to bedtime.

The muscles in my body felt like they were quivering.

I started roaming the house and cleaning, all the while having hypothetical fights and arguments with people in my head that surrounded the topic Michael asked about. I played out every scenario, every possible fight or disagreement.  My heart was racing and my chest was tightening by the second. I was angry with people, I was mad, I was jealous, I was not making sense, and I knew it.

My breath was fast and it hurt to inhale.

I knew that all of this was unreasonable. I knew these fights weren't going to happen, that the horrible outcomes I had running through my head weren't going to occur, I knew that (because of this harmless question) no one was going to die, yet I could not get that through to myself.

The tightening in my chest was so much, that I was walking and holding in my heart with my left hand.

Eliza started following me and I could hear her murmur to herself, like I was. I could see my mini-me rummage and pick up items and straighten things in a flustered and irrational manner. I tried to tell her mommy just needed her chapstick and then she would calm down, but she knew; better than I did, that no amount of chapstick would stop my shaking and labored breathing.

My ears were hot, my pals clammy, and my body temperature kept rising.

I hate that this trait is something I will most likely pass on to one of my children, and then, that became my obsession; seeing my kids' futures like this, and I started spiraling deeper.

I couldn't breath or reason or slow down.

Amid the, hypothetical, internal arguments I was having with people, I heard Lizie's voice, asking me to put her to bed. We brushed our teeth, climbed into her hot pink princess bed, and laid on our sides facing one another.

There were tears streaming down my face and I was taking as deep of breaths as I could... but then I noticed it. I noticed what my three year old daughter was doing for me; she had found my breath and was breathing deeply along with me and looking at me directly in the eyes. (Something I do to calm the kids)

My heart slowed and my chest pain lessened, and for a good 10 minutes we stared at each other, breathing in unison; until the most beautiful thing happened.  Eliza took her little arm, rapped it around my back and began patting my shoulder and whispered "You're a good momma, we love you so much."

The thought of ever being a burden to my children scares me, it is not their job to take care of their mom, but at the same time; I love that they know how to take care of people. The balance of showing your kids your struggles, but exposing them to too much, is a difficult one; one that weighs heavily on me.

Today is slow. I have two check lists, a dream list and a practical list.  I've apologized up front to my kids that I have little patience and that I might cry, but it's only because I'm tired and want to do a good job for them.
Beckett got his sister breakfast
Brooks cleaned the living room
Eliza keeps cuddling and stopping to check in with her me.

I've yelled, more that I would like to admit to and I've cried just a little less than yelled, but the kids are alright. Lizie is curled up between my legs, Brooks is sitting beside me, and Beckett is at the foot of our lounger.  We are watching movie number 2 and I could give a crap less if I'm going over on "screen time."

Last night was inevitable, change always causes my panic and anxiety to ramp up. We've spent our summer going and going and going, because I was avoided a meltdown, but the irony is, that it most likely caused it.

I'm an imperfect mom who has an imperfect marriage and imperfect kids, but I try very hard to continually better myself.  I have a husband who, although he isn't always the best at communication, knows that silence and putting the kids to bed without a question, is often what I need.  I have children who are compassionate and forgiving and nonjudgmental, kids who I know will be good humans. 

And, with any luck, hopefully by tonight I'll have a clean(ish) house.

The reason I posted pictures of my kids today.

The repair man was coming at 10 o'clock and at 9:55, just as I was rushing to clean the house and dress the kids, the door bell rings... I throw on the rest of my clothes and answer the door flustered.

10 minutes later, after several broken conversations, the repair man asks me something that needs my full attention. Just then, Eliza screams for help from the bathroom and the boys begin an all out brawl in the kitchen right next to the dish washer. I lost my temper, yelled at the boys to go to their room, and the repair man, softly and apologetically, asked "Do you want to call your husband so I can talk to him?"

And then, like any sane person who has their shit together, I began sobbing. I called Michael (from the bathroom because Eliza was now full on screaming for help) and told him that he needed to take care of this.

I should be able to watch my kids and talk to an adult. I should be able to have the house cleaned and ready if someone arrives. I should be able to control my emotions enough so that I don't make a repair man feel uncomfortable with my tears.

I should, but I don't

After he left, I didn't plan an outing or set up any events for the day.  I didn't play games or sit and read to my children. I didn't clean the bathrooms or wash laundry.

After he left; I sat and watched as my kids tore the house apart.

*I wanted to leave and go pick out fabric for the blankets I was going to make the kids, but the thought of loading up into the car seemed too daunting.

*I wanted to organize Eliza's new doll clothing and finish the loads of laundry that add up, but all I could focus on was that they would still be there (even bigger) tomorrow. 

*I wanted to take the kids out to lunch someplace with a play place, but thinking about talking to someone I don't know (even to order food) exhausted me. 

*I wanted to go to Target to get some groceries for an exciting new dinner I'd come up with a few days ago for the family, but I just didn't have it in me to move from the couch.

The day drug on and I grew angrier with myself for wasting a day.  As a person who's always suffered from depression and anxiety, when something goes wrong... I can't always turn the situation around. And then, I dig myself an even deeper hole with self loathing.

The kids ate food, they played non-stop, they laughed, and overall will most likely sit at our dinner table tonight and tell dad they had fun; however, I won't recall that day, my day was very different. And the thought of a wasted day with my children, upsets me deep in my gut.

As 2 o'clock approached I stood up and announced we'd go for a walk. I checked that my yoga pants were presentable enough, put on Michael's hoodie, and helped each kid put on their tennis shoes.  I was going to leave this house.

As we walked and the kids played, I snapped a few pictures, because it was a moment I needed to be reminded of. And yes, I did post my photos, because I needed to share my win moment.  Today, after 4 hours, I won and got up and got out of my house. In years past, these moments were few and far between; so if posting on social media, and looking at my memories serves as a reminder to me, then I'll keep on doing it. When old posts pop up on my feed, not only do I get nostalgic, but I'm reminded of events and times that I had and gave myself reasons to get up and get moving.

I have three giant reasons to get up and be present every.single.day

In truth, we don't need to entertain our kids or drive them all over to be good parents. The skills my kids learn, when left to their own devices, are greater than half the stuff I can teach them. While I wasn't fully engaged or interacting with my kids at the level I generally deem as "being a great mom," I wasn't a bad mom.  I was there, not my best, but I was there. While I didn't play games with them or read to them, I sat and watched as they made up their own games and listened to Beckett as he read to his brother and sister.

I know my mental health should be something I'm constantly working on, and it is. Six summers back, I would have sat there for hours and then days; not watching TV, not playing on my phone, but contemplating what I should do and then convincing myself not to. Then, evening would approach and the guilt of my wasted time would get to me and I'd hate myself.

I work on myself now, more than ever. I work on myself for my babies. I acknowledge when I'm dipping deep into an emotional state that is best avoided and I find my outlets. I write. I run. I take deep breaths and count the beautiful living souls I've created.

I try to give myself rest days and I make sure to connect with people who lift me up. Above all, I forgive myself for days like today and I acknowledge the me that is deep inside. The me that wants to melt into her bed and grow forever stagnate. Because, she too is apart of me. And, though I fight with her daily, she is what makes me the compassionate person that I am.

So, I post pictures of my kids hiking, walking, playing at the museum, and running around the zoo because I wear those activities like a badge of honor. I'm not just proud that I get all three out of the house, I'm proud that I get out of the house and that I am able to be present in their lives.

On being married to the boy from senior year

Over the course of our marriage I've heard multiple comments on the fact that I married the same boy I dated in high school, ranging from "You two must be so in love," all the way to "Hmmm I think I'd have tried to killed my high school boyfriend by now."

Both of these comments, are true.  

From the outside looking in (i.e. Facebook/Instagram posts and photos) I'm relatively confident that our life looks pretty good; while mostly true, being with someone through those crazy teens/twenties/early thirties, is far from easy.

We fight like we're teenagers.  

When I'm mad, I'm still that girl that, quite literally, kicked him out of my car on the edge of a cornfield and made him walk home... because, like 18 year old Megan, I don't want to deal with stuff when I'm so frustrated I could scream.

When we argue, Michael is still that 19 year old who lied about going to a strip club, but wouldn't admit that he did anything wrong... because, like 19 year old Michael, he can find justification and expects all to be forgiven with not explanation. 

It's taken us a long time (as far as our relationship is concerned) to grow as better partners.

Neither Michael nor I experienced much dating beyond each other. We haven't had failed relationships where we learn from our mistakes, rather, we've powered through these mistakes and accepted them as character flaws. While this can be good, it also has its downsides.

It took until our 30s, 12 years into our relationship together, for me to learn that issues between us are best to think on and discuss at a later date, rather than losing my shit in the moment. For Michael, he's just now learning the significance of me feeling loved and needed.

It's not like we had a world wind encounter in high school, the "romance" that started this whole thing, was a campfire after a football game and a couple of Busch lights. The relationship began because, senior year I thought the running back was cute (and his best friend was dating my best friend), so I decided we should date, and we did.

Things find a way of working out and people find their way to others that bring out the best in them. 

 We've changed and changed and changed 

When I've been asked, what's been difficult about dating my high school boyfriend? I answer that: We aren't the same kids we were in high school, the two that dated in college, the ones who lived outside Philly for a bit, those crazies who packed it up and headed to CO, the couple that decided to have babies, or even the two that decided to have a third. We have changed over and over again. Lucky for us, we've change together and in the same direction.

And in those times of change, there have been moments that confirm we are on the right path; like when our little Lizie was born with a liver that wasn't functioning and the doctors spent close to 3 weeks trying to come up with an answer. Michael, who had just started a new job, was there every second of every minute to talk to the doctors and ask the difficult questions. Michael was there as our 6lb baby was loaded up in flight for life and sent across town to doctors who could hopefully help her. Michael was strong when I couldn't be.

And when, 2 days after Beckett was born 6 weeks premature, Michael went through (to date) the greatest loss in his family. I stayed with our little man on oxygen and feeding tubes, so that Michael could be with the family that needed him.

In times of need, we always show up.

The night before Eliza was transferred, Michael held and walked her for hours in the hospital

We don't prioritize "us"

Our big struggle these days: Learning to find time for each other. For a couple that has been together for 16 years, 11 without kids, it's difficult to put ourselves first over our family.

I love the idea that you should "always date your spouse," really I do, but guess what? That isn't always a possibility.  We live 1300 miles from our families and we have 3 kids.  Sitters and childcare are expensive, so expendable income is tough to find.

Should we find a way to date, maybe, but when it comes to spending money; we choose our kids.  We choose skiing in the mountains, soccer teams and private swim lessons, traveling throughout the summer, and flying to Michigan and Texas. When money is tight we choose to spend it on our family.

I know that, without Michael and me, this family doesn't work, that we should be a priority. But, maybe this is just part of this phase in our marriage.  We love each other, we have since we were 18, so hopefully, the time we spent working on us and growing as one can help us through these crazy times of babies, bills, and little alone time.  

As much as we've grown and changed and learned, our teenage selves still creep in.

Last week Michael was on a 4 night trip.  The day before he left we argued, not loud or in front of the kids, but teenage Michael came out with words that cut me to my core and teenage Megan came out full of pride and passive aggressiveness . We didn't speak his entire trip.

We go to bed mad.
We travel apart from each other mad.
We leave for work mad.
But mad, is NOT, not loving someone.

The love, is always there. 

We keep going, because we know we are there... somewhere. 

This past September marked 10 years of marriage and we were finally able to spend a few nights way together, for the first time in over 5 years. And, for those few days, everything was perfect. A few weeks later though, reality sets in again and those two high-schoolers in love, that young married couple in love, and the fun loving anniversary goers in love, can feel like a distant memory.

But, we are there; sometimes hidden behind bills, dishes, kids, and dirty laundry, we are there.

Honeymooners... 

I'm a teacher's kid

I'm a teacher's kid. From day one of school, I got on the bus with my two sisters, well after our mother left for work. If I wanted cold lunch, I had to pack it myself. I grew up hearing my mother call other kids "her kids." My sisters and I spent countless hours running around our mom's school during the summer. And, while I could count on my mother being there all summer long, I also grew up knowing that my busiest times of the year were also my mother's. None of these things hurt or harmed me, instead, they shaped me into the person I am.

15 years later I find myself in my mother's shoes. My babies playfully roam the halls of my work place (and obviously lock themselves in the lockers from time to time). We are able to spend our summers together and I get to enjoy a job I care about; I really feel like I get the best of both worlds.

Times; however, have changed. Social media is a monster and I feel there is this unspoken expectation that I need to be present at every drop off, every pick up, each meet and great, volunteering in the classroom, and helping out at every practice and school function in between. But, as a teacher, who works the same hours my kids are in school (in a different building) and has her busiest times of the year coincide with her children's, this is next to impossible.

Bad mom confession: I didn't drop my son off at his first day of Kindergarten. It wasn't because I don't love him or because it would be to difficult emotionally, but because I was working.  I had 120 little 6th graders waiting for me. I had 120 little 6th graders whose only smiling face they might remember, was mine.  I had 120 little 6th graders with multiple parents each, expecting that I would be there for their little one as they walked through the doors of middle school for the first time.

To those mothers, and families, who were present on the first day of school, I applaud you in your ability to plan and make things happen, I genuinely liked each of your posts. My post; however, was of Beckett in my backyard. So that I could have a little moment, I made the poor kid get up and dressed an hour before he needed to.  On top of that, I had to text the photo to my husband because on everyone's first week of school, he was traveling in Mexico for work.

But you know what was amazing about that day? For the first time, my mom got to take someone to their first day of school. My mom, who selflessly came to visit for a week to help out, was able to help pack my son's backpack, pay for his hot lunch ticket, and greet him at the door after school was let out.

For many, those are moments that they may never get back, but for me, those are moments I'm okay with hearing about. I know my son was in good hands and I love that he is growing and moving forward. Not to mention, after years of riding the bus and not being dropped off, I'm no worse for the wear.

I've never been the type of mom to say "slow down" or "stop growing so fast," not because I want my kids to grow up and leave, but because each step is a gift.  I love that my first born is taking on kindergarten like a champ; when he came home telling me all about what an eclipse was, I beamed with pride.  As my baby girl pieces together full sentences and is able to express herself, I hold my breath because it is so amazing to watch.  When our middle stepped out on his own for the first time in pre-school and made his own friends, I cheered.

I'm fortunate to be here for everything, maybe there are a few moments here and there that I miss, but overall, I get to be on this journey with my kids.  I get to see them grow, hear their stories, and hopefully continue to be apart of their lives.

I'm a teacher's kid. I was raised knowing that education, learning to be independent, and growing up, are not only parts of life, but gifts.  

I didn't drop my first born off on the first day of school, but as a teacher's kid, I think he'll get it.

Today

Today, my kids ate frozen waffles, actual frozen waffles, for breakfast. I told them to give it time and "they'll warm up."

Today, I winced after getting out of the shower with Eliza, as I saw her walk over and step on my scale, as if that's supposed to be part of my routine. I put the scale away in the linen closet. I hate that I don't have the courage to throw it out.

Today, after yelling at Beckett, I apologized and then broke into tears as I was driving home from swim lessons. Brooks, my heart, said "Mamma, you always cry when you think you're a bad mamma, but your not. I always think you're a good mamma." To which Beckett followed with "We always know you love us, and we always love you.  Don't cry mamma."

Today, we had fast food for lunch and I played on my phone the entire time they were in the playroom.

Today, as we walked across the parking lot, Beckett paused to hold his sister's hand and explain to her the rules of crossing busy roads. 

Today, I kept telling myself to slow down, breath, and take it easy; that everything would be fine if we were late and the house wasn't clean, but I couldn't.

Today, as I put Lizie down for her nap, she softly  whispered "sweep wis me mamma," so...

Today, I let my boys watch a Netflix show I'd normally say no to, so that I could get some rest and cuddle with Lizie.

Today, I lost my temper not once, not twice, but a hundred times.

Today, my littlest baby stood screaming "MAMMA take me!" at the door as I took off for a run. And although I normally try to take her, I couldn't bring myself to turn around, even though I knew what the next 40 minutes would be like for Michael.

Today, I didn't pause to listen to Michael or ask about his day because I was too consumed with mine.

Today, after my run, Brooks told me I looked strong.

Today, I wasn't at my best.

Today, I was exhausted and it showed.

But together, we made it through today. No one was irreparably damaged. No one was left behind or forgotten.  No one went without a million kisses and cuddles.  No one went through the day without love and being heard.

Tomorrow, I'll rise early and try to start the day on top of things. Tomorrow I'll take deep breaths before losing my temper. Tomorrow I'll make my babies breakfast and sit with them to talk. Tomorrow we will practice site words and numbers and the alphabet.

Or, maybe tomorrow will be just like today. Either way, I'll keep working on myself.  I won't always (if every) be the best mom or wife, but that isn't the goal.  The goal is to wake up each day, not only for my family, but myself.  The goal is to love, be honest, and work with them so we can all learn to be our best selves...and hopefully it gets a little easier.

Creating memories for the three little ones who ride in the backseat

I remember sitting in our blue Chevy van outside of my dad's plant at Steering Gear, waiting for him to get off of work.  He'd excitedly climb in, showing no signs of working (quite possibly) double overtime. In the back my sisters and I were hunkered down with blankets, pillows, and travel materials my mom had packed for us for our trip. Within minutes we had "hit the road," for camping. Somewhere along the way "Mike's Greatest Hits," came on and we'd sing along to George, Johnny, Jim, Hank, and Willie.  As we traveled my mom would tell us of everything we'd see and do on the trip, she would educated us from the front seat of the car about the national landmarks that lay ahead and even taught us poems about Lewis and Clark, that I can still recite to this day.

Camp was set up and we'd climb into the tiny home that would be ours for either a long weekend, or at times, upwards of a month.  We'd be lulled to sleep by Patsy Cline and dream of our adventures ahead.  As I look back now, our trips were magical...National Parks, State Parks, countless states across the country, faerie boat rides, and often up into Canada to visit several Providences. I loved the campground atmosphere that fostered kids running bear foot and roasting marshmallows at campfires.  And those times, when we'd find a campground in the middle of nowhere that no one was staying, seemed like a little peace of heaven just for us.

My parents created something, in my mind, that is beautiful and exciting and nostalgic. This is what I want for my kids... but as time moves on and Michael and I move into, not just the proverbial, but the literal driver's seat, the experience is definitely different.

How did they make it look so easy?  How did they plan everything so smoothly (and without the internet)? How did my mom do all the packing for 3 kids, herself, as well as all the food/towels/bathroom supplies/medical supplies for EVERYONE?!? How did I miss the exhaustion on my father's face as he walked out of the hot factory in July?  How did I not see when my parents disagreed on a plan of action? How did I not notice the deep breaths they must have taken when my sisters and I had them at their wits end?

Seven months ago Michael and I began planning our most recent trip. I like reservations, departure dates, and planning for what to expect; but one month ago Michael's work responsibilities changed and we had to quite literally flip our route and move our entire trip back a week. While I'd like to think I'm flexible, Michael felt my frustration and I felt pressure to continually change and update our plans.We pushed onward and were fortunate enough to still obtain reservations.

I promise, I work very hard to be understanding, but when the week to leave finally came and he had to go in early each day and return to work each night for a few hours, and then we had to push our departure back another day... I was exhausted and frustrated. Not mad, but frustrated. I'd been planning, packing, taking care of the kids, dreaming of magical moments as a family on vacation, and felt like I was the only one who wanted this vacation. (I realize how petty and self involved I sound at this point... don't worry, I improve)

Michael is an amazing father and husband, he works incredibly hard and is beyond dedicated to his responsibilities in all aspects of his life.  These are not things I say lightly nor that I say because a wife is supposed to; they are true. Logically and lovingly I say these things, but when vacation is just around the corner and plans change again; I know I'm not at my best as a wife. When you are in throws of life and kids and marriage and work and summer vacation, it's easy to feel like you're the one carry the weight of your family, even though it is far from true.

The thing is, we were both working towards the same goal; our family.  I was doing the day to day and Michael was doing the big picture.  I was dreaming of the moments I remembered as a child that I wanted to pass on and Michael was working so that we would always be able to provide our kids with those moments.

When Michael came home and we loaded in the car, we let it go.  The tension that had grown between us over the past weeks faded. No, I'm not going to lie, we didn't talk much the first few hours, but sitting quietly in the car together as the kids giggled and talked brought us back to who we are as a couple and reminded us of why we were heading down the roads that lay ahead.

We are two very different people, but what we have in common, are the three little ones that ride in the backseat. With all of our hearts, our goal as a couple, is to build experiences as a family and foster growth, individuality, and love.

95% of our photos look like this

I know now that my family vacations weren't all sunshine, waterfalls, and magic.  I know my mom stressed about having the right amount of outfits for her girls, enough food for the trip, whether or not we'd make our reservations, what toys and games to pack, and over the fact that sometimes her kids just wouldn't BE QUIET.  I know that my father worked tirelessly for our family so that we could have our long family vacations and that, although he was exhausted, he never carried his work stress over into the trip because that isn't what a dad is supposed to do.

Thanks to Nana, we were able to catch LOTS of moments as a family!

On our trip, Michael, whose favorite past time these past 10 years has become fly fishing, packed his fly rod; but instead of waking before the sun to hit the rivers of Yellowstone and Montana, he rose to call his boss and finalize work that he still left unfinished. And although I'm sure a little frustrated showed on my face when he ran off mid trip, I got it. I got that he was there for us and that he was leaving camp briefly to work for us; and I deeply appreciate, respect, and love him for that. (Also, I'm beyond thankful for my in-laws who were there to help out and keep me balanced)

This September marks 10 years of marriage (16 years together), and as much as I wish we were always a well oiled machine, we aren't.  We often disagree, hold anger, and are baffled by the other's career choice and work methods. I can be very needy and focused on what impacts me in the moment and Michael can be distant and pre-occupied with work, BUT we do hit our stride; we learn to barrel through our struggles and rise up for the other when necessary.  We see the good in the other person and work to bring out their best. Above all, we love each other as a spouse, partner, and parent.

The trip wasn't perfect, but to my kids, it was. Our babies will remember swimming in the rivers and lakes, having Uncle Brett watch them jump in and swim across the pool, driving through the mountains and taking pictures on the edges of cliffs, cuddling with Nana and Papa by the fire, sleeping in piles together in our pop up, biking through the campgrounds of Yellowstone, cruising around in a boat in Glacier, but most importantly; I hope they remember that mom and dad too, were happy!  I hope they remember that we worked together as a family to travel, that we live in the moments that make up the lasting memories, that we deeply love our family, and that we are always excited about the next stop along the way.

When Michigan stopped being home

Crying, I stared out the front porch window of my parent's cottage. It was days before I moved to Colorado and I remember telling my dad I was scared and nervous about leaving all that was familiar to me. He rubbed my shoulder, looked out at the lake with me and said "This is your time.  This is your future and your family, it's not mine anymore.  I'd keep you if I could, but that isn't how life works.  Go to Colorado and start your life."

Lake view from my parent's cottage

It's a funny thing, to let go of the traditions and experiences of your childhood and embrace your own life, your own family.  There is a struggle inside us that wants to hold on to everything we did and experienced growing up, but also the urge to leave. As much as we fight and want to be independent growing up, the second we have the chance to breakaway on our own, there is this pull that keeps us  returning home.

This summer marks the first time I won't be going back to Michigan, by choice.  There have been years when we financially couldn't swing it, but this summer Michael and I are choosing to keep our family here on the front range. We are choosing to use our travel budget to camp with our kids throughout the west.

The pull to return to Michigan, has lessened.

For 11 years I've struggled to find my place between Colorado and Michigan. As Much as I love my home, I've never fully let go of the idea of having all of my memories continue and be created in Michigan.

I want summers boating at my parents cabin.  I want camping in the U.P. and hiking to Tahquamenon falls.  I want Frankenmuth festivals. I want the spectacular Christmas mornings at my parent's house that my mom and dad made possible. 

But, I also want to continue to explore and embrace the roots of my children, and their roots are here in Colorado.

It took until this summer for me to realize that my happy childhood memories are embedded in the quality time and vacationing I experienced with my parents and sisters, not from Michigan alone. What I love most about my childhood, is that my parents dedicated time to us and encouraged us to exploring new places and push boundaries.

The Savard girls camping

I've always planned trips "home" or that revolved around the memories of my childhood; but now is not the time for my childhood. Now is the time for the childhood memories of Beckett, Brooks, and Eliza.  I have three Colorado natives, and it would be a disservice to them if I didn't embrace that.

This doesn't mean we won't return to Michigan for holidays and trips, but it also doesn't mean that we will continue to spend all of our travel budget on Michigan.  If money were no issue, we could do both as much as we wanted; travel to see family and vacation as our own family, but when your a family of 5 in 2017, money is always an issue.

At some point, as important as our roots are, our focus must turn to our children and the memories they will hold on to tightly. Michigan holds many amazing things, most amazing of them all, are our families. But those family members are not forgotten or left behind just because we moved, I religiously communicate with my sisters, parents, and in-laws. Even if it is just phone calls or text messages, our bond is still there and it is still strong.

Sometimes life moves us, not just in the direction we want, but the direction we need. I take great pride in not only moving here, but building our life here.  I love the friends and family we have created. I love that our marriage was built on the two of us surviving in a new place and building a new life together; Colorado is just as meaningful to our marriage as the vows we said 10 years ago.

Camping as just two in Telluride

I pray that some day my kids may struggle with letting go and going out on their own as much as I have. I hope that my kids want to stay, but push themselves to leave so that they can create their own futures and families.  No, I don't ever want to think of them moving thousands of miles away, but I will be proud that I've helped raise independent and confident individuals who chase their own lives.

The sum of 13 years is infinite

She was never meant to be a family pet for three kids or a "practice baby" for a young couple, she was meant to be mine, and I belonged to her.

Maddie was what 20 year old; selfish, unfocused, scared Megan needed. We loved each other unconditionally. The purpose she gave me was a relief from worrying so much about myself.

And when, on Friday, I carried her into the car one last time, I saw and felt the past 13 years fly by. I rubbed her head when I laid her down in the backseat and nuzzled my face to hers to let her know she would be fine. I inhaled her, trying to never lose that memory. Just as I had done 13 years ago, when I drove the two of us home for the first time, we were going to take this final drive, as just the two of us.

13 years goes by in a moment. 13 years holds too many emotions and life changing events to even put into words. When I began writing this, I typed everything I remembered about my life with Maddie; our stories, our travels, the moving we've done across this country, her funny quirks, the absolutely uncontrollable love she showed me, and how she changed me to my core.

But, the magnitude of what she meant to me and our time together isn't easily written.

Our time together, right now, means more to me than a series of moments written down. Those moments are there, those memories are wonderful, but for the time being, those belong to the two of us.

I've always said that I grew up with a golden retriever, because that is what our family had when I was younger, but it isn't true; I grew up with a black lab. I grew up with Maddie.

She wasn't a pet, she wasn't family, for 13 years she was a part of me, ever single day. Maddie saw it all, was there for it all, and I could not thank her enough for what she provided for me. 

Tonight, as we returned from camping, the kids hardly notices her absence.. and that is okay. To them; Maddie belonged to me, she was a fixture in our home since the moment they arrived in this world.  I noticed though, I felt her absence even before we arrived at the house. She hadn't rushed to the door or bounded through the house with excitement in a while, but she was there for me each day, without fail. With her kind, understanding eyes, she loved me with all that she was, and that is what I will miss the most.

There are times in teaching when I feel like a failure.

The second to last week of school I cried in front of my students, tears streamed down my face and I didn't wipe them away. I read a book that means something to me and to them.  I didn't think about my job, instead I got caught in the moment. The book was raw with emotions and humor and I let myself feel them in front of everyone.

I shared my heart with my kids

When I cried, they didn't laugh, they stared at me with eyes of love and compassion.  They knew why these quotes were so meaningful to me.

And then, after class was over, I cried alone because I realized that this is what I missed this year.  Don't get me wrong, I was real with my students, I always am, but my heart didn't enter the classroom the way it has in the past, because I was guarded. Throughout this rough year, I lost a little of what brought me to this profession. I lost my ability to let myself be me in front of my students to the extent I am used to.

I began this school year on the defense. I had a parent who doubted and questioned everything I did, said, how I felt about their child, how I acted, and the way I taught. 

As a teacher, we face this often, but this was different. This parent stuck with me all year. This parent made me doubt myself as not only an educator, but as a person.

I feel like I've failed. I did my job; I taught the standards, graded essays, provided timely feedback, made parent communication, made meaningful student connections, and worked to make lessons relevant and substantial for my student population. But, in my mind it was never enough.

After 7 years teaching 8th grade I've decided to move to 6th grade. While this opportunity is exciting and I'm fortunate to look forward to a great team of 6th grade teachers, I can't help but feel like I'm quitting 8th grade.

I feel like I'm giving up... but in teaching, we don't give up.

I'm not running to an easier position, as each grade has their own difficulties, but I do feel like I'm running away from a position that I fell short of achieving.

I've blamed my rough year on; a difficult group of kids, being unable to balance work and my own three little ones, my long commute, and 8th grade behaviors that have gotten to me... but reality is I blame myself more than anything.

So, to parents who struggle with their child in the school system, please know that we cry and think about your kid all the time.  I know he/she is your baby and I know that their success and struggles are always on your mind, I'm a mom too... but I am also a teacher who cries on my car ride home and before I got to bed. I cry about your child's behavior, your child's struggles, how I'm going to best handle them the next day, and how I'm going to help them grow as a student and person. I take to heart all of your words, they not only change my actions in the class, but my life choices. Just as we would never want your child to feel like a failure, teachers never do their job expecting to fail or fall short. 

Sunday evening coming down...

On Sunday night, as the weekend washes off of me and the kids fall asleep, I roll over in bed and lay my hand on Michael's chest and my heart aches... for my babies.  I miss them.  I want each of them snuggled up against us through the late night hours; kicking, moving, pinching, and breathing their heavy baby breaths.  I want my babies with me. These babies, that I've diverted or fought off at times weekend, I need and want them in my arms.  My body physically aches for them.

This is the dichotomy of being a mother

We want our babies to need us, but the neediness is also deflating.

The weekend is what we work for, but it isn't always smiles and sunshine. Often, I tell the kids that, "Mommy can't be touched right now," because those adorable little hands I created can feel overwhelming.  The title "mamma" that I prayed to hear and work daily to deserve, can be daunting when sung in rounds by each child at any and every given moment.

I cry because I feel bad that I cry over being a mother, the guilt that it isn't always the easiest of jobs and that I'm probably messing it up runs deep.

It's only a few years.

It's only a few years that I am blessed to be exhausted on the weekend.
It's only a few years that I am fortunate enough to have healthy babies keeping me on my toes.
It's only a few years that Michael and I get to smile over the chaos and be thankful that we have actually received exactly what we spent years working for.

Those three little ones who are peacefully sleeping across the hall, those hearts that beat pure, and those warm souls I want so badly to cuddle, will thankfully still be there in the morning. So, I relax into my bed and try to forgive myself.

...But, you better believe that if those little voices and tiny hands come reaching for me and calling mamma in the middle of the night, that I will happily welcome the cuddles.   

Camping, because we love to clean and pack and wash and clean!

This weekend was our season opener for camping! Our trip was perfect, except that everything went wrong.  

Our battery was dead (I admit I like to camp with heat), we forgot Michael's clothes,the kids screamed a lot, we forgot Eliza's pajamas and HER PACIFIER (seriously, first night without a paci was in the middle of the woods #fortheloveofgodstopcrying), we left 2 hours late, the kids fought, we ran out of snacks pretty fast, we had to drive back to our house mid-trip for Michael's clothing and a new battery only to find out that our thermostat wasn't working either, the kids cried, it rained, and because Brooks never thinks before he does, he ran out of clothes really fast. 

The thing is, camping and traveling with kids isn't always rewarding.  There are times when you want to punch yourself in the face because everything is going to shit. The part that people often forget, is that the kids don't know that.  The kids don't know when stuff isn't going as planned.  All my kids knew was that we had a solitary camping site with a stream to swim in and tons of trees to kick and knock over.

My boys stop and say "I love you mom and dad," whenever they are having the time of their lives.  While we were camping, they said this countless times; mid jumping in the stream, Brooks shouted how much he loved us, as he was kicking down a dead tree, Beckett paused to say he loved us, and Lizie would stop mid chasing her brothers to come in for a deep hug. Over and over again, our kids told us how much fun they were having without uttering those exact words.

We were in the mountains less than 48 hours. It took us two evenings to plan and pack, an entire day and half of laundry, an hour to scrub the pop-up and vehicle, and lots of busy work throughout the trip... so why do we camp?

We camp because our kids are wild souls and when we see them run through the woods and play in streams, we know they are home.

We camp because it gets us out of the house.

We camp because when camping, something about our marriage seems perfect; we have nature, beer, fire, mountains, and each other. 

We camp because those are the memories I remember most fondly from my childhood. 

We camp because our children LOVE being close to us, and one day that may end. 

We camp because our pop-up once belonged to Michael's uncle, who left this world too soon, and something about having our kids enjoy camping in his pop-up feels like Michigan and home and family.

We camp because we love Colorado, the mountains, traveling, seeing everything from the seat of our car, and feeling the ground under our feet. 

We camp for moments like this...

We do it for the same reason that any parent does anything where the work you put in is often greater than the take away... for our children.  Maybe they won't remember all of our camping trips and maybe some day they will resist our travels, but for the time being, I hope that camping leaves a positive impact on them.  I hope my children appreciate nature, that they continue to be wild and unruly, and that camping keeps us close as a family.  

Exhaustion Waterfall

I remember being in grad school; student teaching during the day, classes at night, and going home to lesson plan until late. It was draining. Once, I woke and called in sick because I was physically and mentally exhausted.  I slept all day and through my classes.  It was an exhaustion I'd never known.

And then, I had a kid... and another... and another.

That mind numbing and life sucking exhaustion is now my life, a life I lead all while raising three kids and teaching 120 of them.

Newborns can be exhausting, especially if they like to party and drink it up all night. Toddlers keep you on your toes, you never quite know if they are discovering something new and exciting or something new and deadly. But the energy level of my children, hell the energy level of Brooks alone, knocks me down regularly.

Resting means shit is going to go down; limbs will be lost, glass will break, and the house will go up in flames, so we keep busy.  When one of us naps, the other has to work triple time, causing the exhaustion waterfall.

Exhaustion waterfall: When exhaustion rains down on you because your attempting to help your partner, who is already beyond exhausted, and then said exhaustion gets so heavy that it pours out of every aspect of your life and you're drowning in it. 

By Sunday, life had caught up to me.  Michael took the kids and let me sleep in until 10. (Normal rise and shine time is 5 a.m.) I headed downstairs fully charged and ready and then I found this...

What Waterfall Effect

Poor Michael, in his attempt to give me some relief, had succumbed to the kids kicking the crap out of him. Hard. He had been beaten. There are simply times when you can not stay awake, no matter how hard you try.  I tagged him out and told him to go upstairs to rest, assuming my rest would power me through the day, but one trip to Costco with the kids had me back at exhausted.

There is never enough sleep.

My mind is always racing and tracing the steps of my children. I wonder all the time if they are behaving, if they are polite.  I worry about their academic growth. Thoughts that I am not enough for them, or that I'm failing as a mom hurt my chest.

The mental exhaustion is just as bad as the physical.

Before you judge me for complaining about this beautiful miracle that it is to be a mother, know that I love it.  I love it very much... that is WHY I AM EXHAUSTED.

I love every belly kiss and nose to nose cuddle. I love worrying and dreaming about their futures. I love having movie nights in our bed because Michael and I can't keep our eyes open a second longer.

And what if we didn't have these little people that we define ourselves by, who would we be?

As we were rushing out the door this morning Beckett was crying, Eliza wailing, and Brooks was running around the house like a cruise director planning his evening events. Michael, the boy I fell in love with as he was playing high school football, and who was NOT known for his attention to detail or acknowledgment of emotions; calmly gave Beckett an extra kiss goodbye, cradled Eliza in his arms, helped Brooks decide on his snack, and then patiently sat and read to our little girl. On our way to school I got the boys doughnuts, a double espresso for myself, and we sang our favorite songs.

This is what parenting has done to us, it has turned us into people who can turn a bad start to a day around, people who can focus on others before themselves. It has opened Michael's heart in a way I never knew possible and caused me to realize that simple things can bring joy.  I don't know who we would be without our kids, but I love the people we have become with them.  Yes, we are exhausted, but we are also better.

The first rule of home projects is: You don't talk about home projects.

Five years into our marriage, and 7 months pregnant with our first, Michael and I decide to complete our little boy's bedroom. My mother had painted the week prior, the furniture was in, and we just needed to cut and hang the chair rail.

We were exactly 3 minutes into the project before curse words were flying. Michael stormed out of the room, to which I told him "I can do it on my own!" His response, "Good luck!"

Grumbling and complaining under my breath, I worked to prove him wrong. In my head, I plotted the day I would tell my son that "Mommy hung this chair rail for you because SHE loves you so much." (Because obviously little boys care about those things). Based off of the noise coming from outside, I was led to believe that Michael was digging a trench around our house, using heavy equipment. He was fuming. 

Two hours later, as I was finishing up, I opened the door to find Michael in the hall

"How did it go?"

"It was tough, but I think I did a great job."

We entered the room together and he genuinely complimented me on my hard work. We didn't talk about the fight, we just moved on.

Our ability to disagree isn't just confined to household projects. Cleaning causes me to twist my hair so much that pieces begin to fall out and that little vain in Michael's temple to pop.  Our beliefs and practice on cleaning are fundamentally different.

Michael cleans like it's his last day on Earth, judgement is about to be thrown down from above, and his eternal fate is hanging on our home being spotless. He rushes through the house cleaning at the same rate our boys rush through the house terrorizing it. I, on the other hand, don't like to fight the chaos. I wait until things settle, and then I get started, slow and steady. To me cleaning is a process not a task.
Don't worry, I'm not naïve, I'm sure he would describe my cleaning style as someone "waiting for someone else to do it first."  

Thing is, we aren't going to change much.  Sometimes, we go to bed mad. We often speed through the evenings barely acknowledging the others hard work.  We can be selfish.

BUT, we also have other things we do exceptionally well together.  Last summer we went camping 6 times with our 3 kids under age 4... and each trip was amazing. (Okay, we all survived and we remember the trip fondly)  We've moved several times, across several states, and bought a home together. We continually work on how we want to raising our kids together; we make joint decisions, always have each other's backs, and would never go against what the other feels is important. With kids, they are the only ones we have to worry about winning.

It's a process.  We won't ever clean the same. Sometimes Michael takes the kids for a trip to the park so I can get work done, or he leaves work a little early so he can clean up before the weekend.  We work on thanking the other person.  We work on noticing what they have done even if it isn't "our" way.

I see people's advice on marriage about not going to bed mad or learning to pick your battles, etc.  We don't always pick the best battles and we don't always talk it out before bed, but we love each other. We love each other despite our problems. We love each other enough to know that some things don't need to be talked to death and sometimes a kiss in the morning before work is all the "I'm sorry" the other person needs... and we try to stay away from home projects.

To my first baby, on your fifth birthday.

To Beckett: On your upcoming 5th birthday.

With wonder in your eyes and a soul beyond your years, you follow your daddy around, learning and questioning everything. Watching you learn and hearing you understand something new is something I never knew could bring such joy to our lives. You were the first baby to kick in my belly and yours was the first heart beat that stopped time for your daddy and me.


While you are still our little boy, you grew up fast, so much faster than most. At 13 months you welcomed your first sibling and I asked you to "help mommy with the baby," yet you were still a baby yourself. And then, just after your 3rd birthday we welcomed your second sibling and you gained the responsibility of "playing with" your little brother while "mommy took care of baby sister," even though you had just mastered potty training. 

I know these events have shaped you into a person who takes such good care of others, but I can't help but worry that you were robbed time to just be our baby.  I'm sorry your time alone with daddy and me was short, but know that that one year alone with you, is a year in our memories and hearts forever. That was the year we learned we could be parents and knew we could do it again.

As you grow, I want you to know that you do not have to carry the weight of being the eldest sibling through life. Yes, you are the oldest, but that only means you were born first, not that you have to pave the way or set an example. Sure, setting a good example is always great, but don't let that dictate your life's decisions. Please don't fall victim to taking the safe route just because you don't want to disappoint.  Be brave, jump. 

I worry about you the most. I see a lot of myself in you, and I'm sorry if you have inherited my struggles. With two families littered with mental health issues, ranging from depression and alcoholism to bipolar and eating disorders, your mental health future is a terrible game of Russian Roulette. I see the anxiety on your face and feel the tension in your body when daddy is gone on business trips.  I hear your teeth grind at night.  I see in you, lots of things I dislike in myself; but you are only turning five! Please let me carry your weight and burdens.

I don't want you to lose your lovable little boy giggle too soon.

No matter what, know that you are resilient and strong.  You came into this world 6 weeks early and tore off every breathing device they tried to provide for you. The first words your daddy said to me after walking you down to the NICU were "He's so strong, he held my finger so tight the entire time." You were and are strong. You came home only a week after your birthday and weighing under 5lbs.

I'm sorry if you already feel life's pressures because you are the oldest and we often expect and ask so much of you, but I'm not sorry that you have two siblings who adore and look up to you. You are Brooks' hero and Eliza's night in shining armor. 

Pressure or not, mental health issues or not, you will be fine. 
I know this because being the oldest has not hindered your father, but propelled him to success. 
I know this because mental health has not broken me, but allowed me to be empathetic to others.
I know this because you are not your father nor your mother; you are Beckett and you are loved.

Happy Birthday Little Man.  Stay sweet, stay strong, and keep being you. 

Cuddles, Kisses, and Dreams

I always wanted kids.  Always. I wanted my own little humans to play with, teach, love, and cuddle. While we waited several years before having kids, we had them quick... one after the other after the other.  Was this planned?  A little yes and a little no.  Is life a crazy hectic mess?  Sure. Do I regret the last 5 years of constant diapers and tears and struggling bank accounts paying for medical bills and childcare?  Absolutely not!

Beckett, Brooks, and Eliza are exactly what I dreamed they would be; loving, smart, funny, sweat, cuddly, and all with blondish hair and blue eyes just like Michael.  But being a mom and wife are nothing like I expected.  

I pictured myself staying home, driving a large SUV, living in a huge house with lots of room (preferable in my hometown of Frankenmuth, MI), kids that listened and respected everyone, having the ability to 'live in the moment' and enjoy everything, going on regular dates or weekend get-aways with Michael, being able to stay on top of house work... I just knew I could be "That mom," but turns out, I'm nothing like that woman. 

But, maybe I wasn't meant to be that mom.

I wasn't meant to have it all together.  My house isn't huge and it always needs to be cleaned. My kids listen when they aren't supposed to and conveniently don't hear me when I want them to.  We drive a cross-over because, let's face it, I'd rather have a minivan but we needed a tow package for the pop-up. I don't run the PTA, instead, I am on the receiving end of the PTA as a teacher who loves when they have the chili pot luck.  Michael and I have never had a weekend get-away. Our weekends consist of babies in our bed, camping as a family, and soccer games.  

Staying home... while I know is perfect for many, was not me. I was home exactly one year and that year was so hard on our marriage and myself emotionally, that working was a better option for our family. And you know what, I love teaching!  No, not all the time, but in my heart, just as I knew I would be a mother, I know I am a teacher.   

I'm not "that mom," my kids aren't perfect, our marriage has its ups and down, and sometimes I do just want to get in the car and drive away from it all... but I don't because despite any struggles, this is the life I was meant for. I am lucky enough to start and end each day giving cuddles, stealing kisses, and helping  the three sweetest little ones I know jump into their dreams.