Then when we became pregnant with our second and learned it was going to be a boy, a friend of the family said, “The perfect family, one of each…a real millionaire’s family! I would feel proud with my swollen belly and glowing cheeks, and my beautiful blonde daughter in my arms. I felt wrapped in the warmth of a growing family and enjoyed the excitement of having “kids” instead of a baby. There was just something that felt official about this second on the way, and I liked it! Then he came, and it was BUSY! A 22-month-old who didn’t like sharing, and this little fella at the breast. Our friends without children would stop over and marvel at the carnival act we had going on. In the space of 200 square feet we had a high chair, swing, bouncy seat, carseat and playmat. But we weren’t out numbered yet. We could still manage things with a fair and equal team effort.

I just began to settle into this new life and decided to embrace motherhood like a seasoned vet. I was excited about one day adding another to the clan, and the sooner the better. When my darling boy was around a year and a half, we discovered we were expecting AGAIN! It was Christmastime, so I put the test into a long, gold jewelry box, wrapped it and gave it to my husband one evening. When I handed this unusually timed special present to him, he had a worried look on his face. I didn’t think he could possibly know…so I asked him what was wrong, and this is what he said: “Well, I’m just a little nervous to open it, it looks expensive and money is really tight for us.” Little did he know this would be the gift that would keep on giving…in diaper bills! But of course he was thrilled and reminded me we would now be out numbered. My mother-in-law couldn’t wrap her brain around the fact that trips to Cedar Point and Disneyland would be disastrous with an uneven number of kids to pair on the rides.

And of course after that, unending comments from every direction would remind me of the chaos I was about to enter. The old boss was delighted to see I was no longer playing house. The perfect family friend couldn’t understand why. WHY? She wanted to know why we would go and mess with a good thing. You’ll be outnumbered, you’ll be outnumbered, YOU’LL BE OUTNUMBERED!
When a dear best friend of mine told us she was pregnant with her fourth (in 5 years), my son had the mother-of-all-takes on the number of children in a family. He said that one’s too easy, two’s for wimps, three’s for quitters but four is just plain CRAZY!! Secretly I envy this friend, because in my experience, three has been crazy.

We are outnumbered. We can only go to Cedar Point with another family so no one get’s stuck on rides without a buddy. My daughters are complete rivals (read: three bedroom house, three kids). There is constant ganging up on someone. Three has been a charm in terms of my ideal number of children to fulfill a need for a “fuller” family without going bonkers, but it’n not without challenges.

There is, however, one way in which my number of three comes in handy to be the absolute perfect number when taking votes, which we do everyday, all day long, about everything. Because with three, there is no chance of a tie, it’s either unanymous or TWO BEATS ONE!
Settles everything without holding me accountable!

And when I think about those early years when my husband and I had to field comments from this person or that one, I remember how proud we were of our family and how we would look at each other and not give a fiddler’s fart what they were saying. We were on the same team and had plenty of confidence on the matter. Two beats one!

Thanks, Liz, for reminding me.

You know who you are, and you know what you do. I love you all from the core of my being, and never for a moment forget how much you have given. It is my deepest desire that my daughters can know the love and strength I’ve recieved from women who will be with them for the long haul.

A private Facebook page. I do believe this is my most recent example of an oxymoran. A public internet webpage – for members only. So you get there, you find the person you’re looking for or whatever, and there they are. A picture and a note that says, “This is Jenny. This is Jenny’s Facebook page. She’s joined the biggest social networking site on the internet, but if you want to get the scoop on Jenny, you won’t be able to.” Only friends in her inner circle get to know what’s up in her world.

I thought close friends already knew what was up in Jenny’s world.

I don’t get it. I guess I never will. Facebook is a mystery I’ll never understand.

Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Get. Me. Outta here.

My due has come, and enough is enough. I cannot lose one more day of my life walking around inisde these walls looking at the endless amount of cleaning and organizing that needs to be done. It never gets done, and when it does it never lasts. I have created a family of lazy butts who think they can eat and leave dishes on the coffee table and undress and drop clothes on the kitchen floor.

THEY HAVE NO ACCOUNTABILITY because I never made them accountable. I know, my bad. My very, very bad. But what’s done is done and I’m not about to take it to City Hall. No way. I’d rather just get out of dodge before I call Nanny 911. Frankly I don’t have it in me to fight the good fight.

Natural consequences, that’s what I say. Let them wade through their rooms to find their coveted crap. Let them hand wash a spoon for their yogurt because none made it into the dishwasher. Let them eat cake for dinner for all I care, but leave me out of it. I can’t sacrifice another minute cleaning up after, serving, hosting and chauffering. Not because I don’t love my darlings, and not because I’m mean and selfish.

BECAUSE I’M A PERSON TOO. I have a life of my own, or at least I want one. One with a little spot carved out just for me. Not one night out every two months for wine with the girls. Not school at the university, though God knows that has saved my ass over the years. I’m talking about a place where I can build something, grow and flourish outside of my role in motherhood. I’ve cherished my time home with my kids and did a really great job caring for them when they were helpless dependents, but they are no longer helpless, just way too needy.

I want them to feel loved and I want them to feel secure. I want them to feel protected and sheltered, yes. I don’t mind them counting on me to take necessary care of the needs they cannot meet for themselves like driving and grocery shopping, but I’m leaving their personal needs up to them now, increasing in order of their ages. My 8-year-old can still ask for a PB&J when she’s hungry. My 12-year-old better be in two casts and a wheelchair if she does. I prepare breakfast, pack school lunches and provide dinner, anything beyond that is not my problem to remedy. Saturdays I will not sit at a perch in the kitchen and continually prepare whatever it is each of them happens to fancy for lunch. Because they don’t respect me for it. Sure, they like it. They may even appreciate not having to get off their butts when they want a glass of water. But they do not realize that there is NO REASON they cannot do it for themselves.

I’m not granny with the cookies here. I’m no longer mommy with the sippy cups either. I’ve become the Bitchin’ Mama so you better check yourself before you wreck yourself because the gig is up. She’s on to greener pastures now.

Her heart will always be wrapped around her babes like a big, beautiful velvet ribbon, but there is still some length left on the spool to reach a little further, to a place where only she gets to go. In that place, no one is ever messy, hungry or bored.

Smart and talented stay-home-moms haven’t a chance in this rat-race without a list of accolades and accomplishments to pull out from some former powerhouse version of who they once were. They better have a Grammy up their sleeve if they think they’re beating out friends and family of the Power People. My daughter tells me how neat it is that her former music teacher’s daughter has taken over her job! I’m all wow! What are the odds of that???

I’ll tell you the odds people…one in about 400 these days. But I guess this who-ya-know game takes the guesswork out of the heavy business of weeding through all those darn applications people so carefully put together and send in with their hopes and dreams.

It’s dog-eat-dog out there.

I guess my problem is I’m not hungry enough, and frankly, not dog enough either.

In the end, everything will be okay
If it’s not okay, it’s not the end!

It is the single most practical way of easing the pain of any situation. Difficult moments – however long they may last, are temporary growing spurts. I think how we handle them is far more relevent than trying to manipulate outcomes. In releasing fear, living by our core value and loving ourselves, no matter what happens around us we will always be okay.

I’m putting into the universe a list of my core values that I aspire to, seek to attract and hopefully eminate in my life:

respect for others
kindness
generosity
humor
passion for life
nurturing physical, spiritual and mental health
hope
faith
non-judgement
accountability
fairness
honesty
loyalty to self when others doubt or disagree
belief in the law of abundance
empathy
commitment

Through the progress of my own spiritual work I commit to honoring these values daily in my interactions with others, even when it is difficult. I know that I cannot change the actions or choices of others, but I have the power to hold steadfast to what I believe in and allow these values to envelope my life. I will feel joy and gratitude for my amazing experience on earth, beginning with the incredible gift of my three beautiful and talented children.

There is nothing to fear, nothing to grieve, nothing to covet and nothing to regret. My life is a perfect reflection of the contents of my heart and I will work daily toward remaining attuned to my soul's desires.

Thank you angels, for your assistance on my journey! I feel you everpresently in everything I do, even in the form of my dissapointments and missteps.

Eventually you realize you’ve woken up 10 days straight with a headache and can’t muster enough energy to get past the breakfast meal. There comes a day of reckoning in all of us to decide our fate, and live it. No regrets, no fear, not an ounce of guilt. Because eventually we need our life force to live OUR lives, not as a reserve for others who are too weak, or scared, or lazy or simply too attached to us to do the work for themselves.

The work of finiding happiness WITHIN.

Because my tank is running low and in order for me to recharge this battery I need to take the key out of the ignition and allow the current to flow through me, but not out. Not now. Not for a while.

When we get exciting, we long for reliable when living in the moment bears its consequences. When predictable gets boring, we need some spicing up. We want our sweats when the blisters ache from heels. We want heels when we look in the mirror and see the sweats. We want money when we’re home all day broke, we want to be home all day when we’re exhausted from being out making money. We want freedom when the children wear us out, we want the children when we feel lonely. We wish we worked out when shopping for new jeans, but we like being happily married and not giving a fiddler’s fart about the 10 pounds most days.

We want the house to be clean and organized, but we overschedule leaving no time.

One thing comes at the cost of another. That’s the way life works, and I can tell by the way I live mine that there is no “one” way for me. No one and only permanent trajectory that I shall never veer from. I have commitment issues, for sure, and I recognize that. I’m working through it. But for all the grief my ever-changing mind has brought me, the one thing it has not is regret. at 37, I feel like my mind has been on a journey around the world. I never close doors on ideas, I never think I can’t change or fix what isn’t working, I never feel like I’m going to miss out. I’ve done a good job raising my kids, and aside from that everything else is an open book.

My heart is open, my mind os open, and I have an awesome family to share my life with. I don’t see it as ever giving up one thing for another, just a constant reorganization of EVERYTHING to keep things from getting too lopsided.

Right now home and hearth are calling for my attention, and I am happy to be able to give it. For a while.

Thanks for keeping comments to a minimum. Before you think that souds rude or weird or whatever, hear me out. I’m down with networking, or at least I accept it as a thing many, many people like to do. Many cool people, many smart people, many totally normal people. I’d label all of my friends all three, so I can’t in good conscience go on forever about my dislike of virtual playgrounds.

But it seems as though my purpose here at WordPress is a very personal, rather private one. Obviously this is the internet, so I don’t mean in the way of concealing anything, or weeding out certian readers, or to even care how many readers I will ever come to have. I just want a place where my thoughts can go at a moment’s notice through some creative medium that is accessable but not necessarily advertised.

I follow a few blogs myself and I enjoy surfing around WordPress to catch a glimspe of all the colorful personalities and ideas that are bobbing around on the internet. It’s really neat, and as a social being I find it intrinsically comforting to feel like part of the world’s population.

That said, the buck stops there most of the time. I don’t troll around websites having weird friendships with crafty quilters or talented photographers or strung out moms. I don’t “follow” blogs and comment daily about the latest happenings going on in their lives, like,

“Wow, that is a really tastey looking lambchop you’ve prepared. I tried the ratatouille recipe you posted last week on my husband and he thought he died and went to heaven! Hope your upcoming interview goes well, good luck!”

But you don’t know me and I don’t know you and and we carry on this way until the feeling fades. Whatever the feeling was to begin with. I guess my point is this: I don’t mind comments when I write controversially charged posts that beckon for debate or some perspective. I get that. Or, okay – my friend Noni and I ocassionally validate one another in the heat of totally “getting” something together. Real friends do that, so I’m cool with it. And of course a one-time compliment is always flattering. But not if it sparks an ongoing dialogue about shit I write about or your personal life. I have to draw the line there.

There is just some intuitive feeling I have about the wrongness in it. The weirdness? The uselessness. Anyone who knows me well knows I myself have diarrhea of the mouth. But I doubt everyone on the Internet who makes their blog accessable wants to be privy to my frequent verbal impulses. I’m sure my real friends don’t either, but those friendships are built on a myriad of things. My gift of gab just happens to be part of the deal they signed on for.

And to an end, there lies the gist: They SIGNED on in friendship, not logged on.