I just need a MOMent! 

Let’s take a second and talk about “pregnancy brain”. You know that point in your pregnancy when progesterone has taken over it seems and your suddenly putting the milk in the pantry and the cereal in the fridge. Or you accidentally loose your keys in a take out box in the fridge for 9 hours and have half your friends searching for you. 

When I was about 5 months pregnant for our oldest I used the term Pregnancy Brain in a room with my husband, brother and his roommates, all college guys. I think football was on and they were getting food when one of them discovered cereal in the fridge. The moment I said it the whole room went quiet and all eyes where on me. After a second of inquisitive looks one said “I’m pretty sure that’s not a thing.” They all just assumed I was a little crazy and went back to football and all things man. A couple weeks later I found an article about it in a pregnancy book and proudly showed them all, to which I got the response “yeah I still don’t think it’s a thing.” Now in case you are wondering, my husband wasn’t the one making these statements. He lived with me and didn’t dare say anything about me and my hormonal state. 

That was 2013. The memory is something I chuckeled at over the years as one by one all of those guys got married and now have a child of their own. Meaning they have experienced their wives emotional, harmonal and one snide remarks away from the loony bin. 

Now a mom of three I’ve discovered something, pregnancy brain is something you get during pregnancy and in some ways never get rid of. Moms, you know what I’m talking about. ESPECIALLY if you live life outnumbered. 

A dear friend of mine and I refer to them as the Oh, Crap moments. My husband referres to it as scatter brain. Regardless it’s a MOMent. 

I had one of these MOMents a last weekend. It was the end of a rough 2 weeks and we had some family coming to town. We were all anxious to see loved ones, get out of the house and explore with them. Of course like any good mom I bathed the kids, folded the 12 loads of laundry on my sofa and got the house looking nice. Don’t go in my bedroom though! My husband mowed the lawn and cleaned off the pourches. In the midst of his cleaning he brought me something that needed to be cleaned. I took it into the laundry room and opted to soak it in the utility sink for a bit before putting it in the wash. I started the water, plugged the drain and put into the soaking liquid before stepping out of the laundry room for a min. 

When I stepped out of the messy laundry room into a cleaning living room, smelling of rose petals and book leather, my lovely Belles library candle, I smiled. My husband had come in from outside and was dancing with our girls while our youngest practiced walking around occasionally grooving to the music we had on. We talked for a minute about what we were gonna do next before I realized …… the girls bangs are kind of long, I should trim them. 

So I found my cutting sheers, a spray bottle of water and the girls and I went out front for a little hair cut…. oh but wait….. the bathroom needs some tidying. 

A few minutes, the bathroom now in order, I realized…. the youngest needs a bottle and a nap before company comes over! Off to do that task. After getting him settled and my attention now on the girls, we marched outside for bang trimming. After a good 5 min I walked back into the house to get the broom to sweep off the pourch my husband had so sweetly already cleaned. The broom was in THE LAUNDRY ROOM, the sink, the item I was cleaning! 

I immediately ran from the front door to a now, very wet laundry room. The sink was full and overflowing, the counter covered in water and spilling down on to the floor. I turned the water off and pulled the plug on the drain. Luckily the dirty clothes and towels that were on the floor waiting to be washed soaked up most of the mess. After grabbing some clean towels, the ones I just finished folding, getting a fan from the shop and getting the mess cleaned up, my husband walks into the room, freshly showered,  and ask “what happened?”

“Welllllllllll, you see what had happened was…the sink overflowed.” 


Yup! See one of the twelve loads of laundry I had just folded was a bundle of towels, the ones I used to clean up the current mess. Towels I had just finished washing and folding from the sink overflowing in the laundry room the week before. 

I proceeded to laugh and sob histerically at the moment, knowing very well my husband and kids were looking at me curious if I should be admitted. 

See here is,what I think, the reality of pregnancy brain. When you’re pregnant your braincells take a journey from your brain down to your womb and travel through the umbilical chord until they become an active part of your growing child’s brain. 

I mean think about it, your kids may look like you or act like your husband but then they get to the age of talking and one day they open their mouth and say something that makes you stop in your tracks. You have a moment where you think, how did they come up with that? I’m telling you they steal your brain cells. 

Some days, when I have a MOMent and my husband and kids look at me like I’m crazy I want to say “If I had all my brain cells this wouldn’t happen.” My house wouldn’t look like a crazy mess with the dryer open, the dishwasher half emptied and a water faucet or tub in the process of being cleaned or cleaning something or someone. 

So dad, kids, everyone else who doesn’t have kids. We aren’t crazy or in need of a mental evaluation. Sometimes we go to the grocery store in sweatpants, sports bras and messy buns. Sometimes we let our kids dress themselves and they look a little Disney princess meets redneck hunter. Sometimes we walk up to the register to check out only to remember we forgot to get what’s on the back of the list. Our houses are messy, our laundry overflowing along with our sinks but we aren’t crazy. Just missing a few brains cells and in need of a MOMent. 

Babysitting Awards

“A picture is worth a thousand words” or at least that’s what they say. The truth is pictures can be deceiving. Sometimes the author or subject chooses to let the viewer in. Other times we see what they want us to see. Pictures can hide ones insecurities and make someone seem confident, they can make a broken home seem whole for a moment, all while hiding the true story behind the image. Not all images have broken stories, but stories none the less. At least through my lense they do….

This is a picture of my 8-9 year old self, holding a friend of my parents new baby girl. I’m sure at some point in the evening I asked or was tasked with “feeding the baby”. No big deal. I was good with kids. I’ve feed a newborn before. I’ve got this. At some point the camera came out, a picture taken and a story hidden. At the time I’m sure I thought, wow I must be like a super pro at this for my age cause they just took my picture. Regardless the baby was fed, a picture taken and life continued. Occasionally invoking me watching this baby girl again and her brother.

Several years later,as a naïve 11 year old, I can remember my parents buying land, starting our new house and there being a flatbed trailer in the back of the construction area. Free and empty, like a stage waiting to be danced on. I spent a lot of time on that trailer while my parents worked inside. Once the girl and her brother where there and together we played on that flat bed trailer. I can remember thinking I was like some babysitting prodigy, my imagination stemming  from the above picture, and I pretended to receive a babysitting award in which I gave a Emmy worthy speech where everyone,with tear filled eyes, stood and applauded for. Babysitters club was obviously  my top favorite book series at the time. Like I said, naïve 11 year old.

Obviously I grew up and the reality that I wasn’t the worlds best babysitter, and if I was they didn’t give out awards for it, was crushing but teenage years set in and soon babysitting wasn’t the cool thing to do anymore. On to the crime solving adventures inspired by Nancy Drew, but we will save those for another day. Nevertheless that picture had a story, one that I didn’t become aware of till much later.

See some small facts about my childhood you may not know.

  1. I was a pastor’s kid. This meant we were around all kinds of people often and people tend to think pastor’s children are more responsible, again I was naïve,  which made someone trusting an 8 year old with a infant to me seemed normal.
  2. I  was an only child. In a youth group filled with siblings, I kind of stuck out like a sore thumb. I got annoyed with my friends who complained about their siblings coming into youth group and hanging out with their friends…. I really just wanted someone to complain about.
  3. I was adopted. I know I know a million questions going through your head. But the biggest one I’ll answer. Yes, I’ve always known. The question of if I had siblings was something I wanted to know since I was young. My heart seemed to ache for them, beyond just someone to babysit.

So back to the story. If you don’t already see where this is going. 

So the picture that I thought was the start of my babysitting rise to fame, was really me cluelessly feeding my sister. See like I said above I was adopted and my parents and my birth mother stayed close, so close that we hung out at thanksgiving together, their parents were friends and my siblings and I were raised together, all the while just thinking we were nothing more then just family friends.

I was about 16 when I was told who my biological mother was. A few months after my brother and sister were told and from there the world changed. My sister always loved me, even before we knew. We all went to the same private school so she would run to hug me when she was at elementary recess and I was heading to lunch. When she found out that we were sisters she told everyone and I mean everyone. 

Over the next couple of years we hung out  and spent time together as sisters but we didn’t get super close till I moved back from college and she was in high school. During her freshman and sophomore years we along with our brother and some friends spent most of our weekends playing card games or board games. I can still remember going over on a Friday night and spending hours debating on what to eat and what to play before finally deciding at 11pm. Most nights we laughed till we cried out of sheer exhaution.

Eventually my brother graduated, I got married and  he, along with his crazy roommates and my family lived next door to one another, that’s a story for another day. Our late nights soon moved to the dueplex and over time life took hold and the game nights faded away. In 2013 I had our first child, 2014 he got married and I had our second child then in 2015 I had our third child and my brother and wife welcomed their first child to our crazy world.

For my sister and I Sundays became our weekly hellos. Occasionally she would join in for a fall bonfire or a taco tuesday. Game nights popped up every once in a blue moon and shopping trips occurred quartly. We were so much alike yet different in the same that we each had our own opinions on life. Unfortunately the juggle of life was tough and our relationship suffered.

In life some times it’s hard to balance a relationship with your husband, being a mom of 3 young ones and then working part time on top of that. Add in grandparents and inlaws and you have something every week. It’s no excuse I know, but it’s something I should of worked harder at then. The juggling act though can be exhausting but again not an excuse.

As a parent, in my thirties, the reality of life without my parents and grandparents is a haunting thing. It’s something that sometimes creeps into my minds after I ask my mom a cooking question or call just to hear her voice. The reality that one day they won’t pick up the phone is overwhelming. It’s not something I dwell on but sadly I try to SLOWLY prepare my self for it.

When my mom called at 4am one Friday morning I thought the reality had come. Relieved by her quick response of “your dad and I are fine” caused my tense nerves to relax… for only a moment.

My sister. The 22 year old, full of life, ray of yellow sunshine was gone. One fatal crash. The surge of emotions still reel like waves crashing against a rock. So many questions, so many thoughts and sadly so many regrets.

I’m not writing this for sympathy, the past is in the past and the time I missed out is now something I have to live with. See behind every picture is a story; and often those stories become cautionary tales.

Mine is of a girl, who longed for a bother and sister but in the weight of life, failed to be there for so many moments. Sure I have images of us during the milestones, but everyone surrounds you during your highlight reel. The years we were close, I’ll hold tight too. The late nights filled with laughter I’ll play on repeat in hopes that the noise will drown out the silence of the more recent nights.

Despite miles, opinions and lifestyles, love… with everything. You never know when a farwell or a hug will be your last.

Dear sister, 

My heart ached for you before you were born and now it aches again for you. Your fearlessness use to frustrate me. The conversations we had about broken hearts and hurt friendships made me think that my cautious life was the smarter choice. You never loved someone halfway though. If they were in your life you embraced them as they were with caution to the wind. I see now that I was wrong. I’ve learned to love everything about every moment of life and to love those around me without borders. To never leave a question or word unresolved. 

So many things will remain unsaid. So many questions left unanswered. One day the laughter will return, the memories will once again be sweet and life will continue but there will always be a missing piece. You made sure that every life you touched would miss you… and I surly do.